One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
by UnityInDiversity
Summary: Booth & Brennan finally seemed to have taken a step forward in their relationship when he got the courage to kiss her. Unfortunately, one step forward spiraled into two steps back. Can they solve their problems as well as a murder at the local fairground?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Bones and all the characters therein are owned by FOX, Hart Hanson and Kathy Reichs. Thus, anything you recognize does not belong to me.

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Chapter One

Yet another horrid murder had occurred in the Washington DC area and, once again, Booth and Brennan had shown the world what an excellent team they made by solving the crime and arresting the perpetrator within four days after the victim had been found in an abandoned warehouse. It was one of the few positive sides to their work and bestowed upon them some sense of satisfaction afterwards. Usually, after a case, the pair ended up at the Royal Diner, where they discussed the events over coffee and, in Booth's case, a nice piece of pie.

This evening was no different. They found themselves at their regular window table. Booth's choice of pie was apricot and he ate it while Brennan spoke of a case in which she had used a similar technique for shaping data from a temporal bone, known as geometric morphometric analysis. Typically, she narrated in such a way that Booth had trouble following her. He didn't understand most of the terminology she used, which was why a large part of the story went in one ear and out the other. He genuinely tried to grasp what she told him, and focus on his partner instead of on the delicious pastry in front of him, but his education simply didn't allow him to succeed. Sometimes he asked her to translate to English, other times he just let her talk and get it off her chest. She needed that, he knew that much.

"I will ask Angela if she can enter this technique into the Angelator. The data could be helpful in other cases as well," Brennan mentioned before finishing the last of her coffee. "It might save us some valuable time in the future."

Booth nodded. He didn't entirely understand the technical stuff, but saving time sounded good in his ears as it meant less work and thus more free time to spend with his son or to watch the NHL. "Sure."

"Has Caroline spoken with Richardson and his attorney yet?" she asked, referring to the man arrested for the murder.

"Speaking to the dickhead right now, actually," he replied with a slight grin.

"Even though I have to admit that I'd hoped it wasn't him, I'm glad we caught him. You know that, right?"

"I do."

"Because I know it was foolish of me to be hopeful that it…"

"Hey Bones," he interrupted her before she could finish that sentence. Resting his arms on the table, he leaned forward and looked her directly in the eyes, needing her to know he was serious about what he was going to say next. "There's nothing foolish about being hopeful."

She stared back at him with the same intensity. "But it serves no real purpose, Booth, the facts aren't going to change."

"That doesn't mean we can't still hope for it."

Uncertain about whether or not to agree with her partner—it was appealing, but her brain told her it was a ridiculous notion—Brennan left it in the middle and broke the stare, eyeing his empty plate instead. "Finished?"

The moment having passed, Booth reluctantly pulled himself away from her and leaned back into his chair. "Yeah."

He reached for his wallet, but Brennan had already slapped some dollar bills onto the table and grinned at him in victory.

"On me," she told him.

Booth couldn't do anything other than release a sigh. It was always like this between them, trying to one-up the other in whatever way possible. If it wasn't about who would pay for their meals, it was about who rang a bell first or who pushed the elevator button the quickest. It was a constant competition between them. Tonight, Brennan had won.

They left the diner and headed over to their cars, which were parked on the other side of the street. They reached Brennan's first as she was parked closest to the entrance of the establishment.

"You know, Bones, I'm sorry this had to happen to you again."

Brennan frowned, racking her brain about what he could possibly be talking about. "What happened to me? You mean, paying our bill? I wanted to."

"That the murderer had been in the foster system. I know it's hard on you. It's why you hoped it wasn't Richardson, but the other guy."

"Well, you see, that's why it was foolish to have my hopes up. It was him nonetheless. What I hoped for didn't alter that fact."

"That's true, but we usually hope for something _before_ the facts are in. And you didn't hope it wasn't Richardson, you were hoping it wasn't a foster kid."

"Booth, he isn't a child anymore, he's an adult."

"That doesn't change the fact," Booth smiled, using her own words. "That he once was a foster kid. Like you."

Brennan sighed. "I don't like psychology, you know that."

"I just want you to know that it's okay to feel that way. You have your own experiences with the system and they weren't… good."

Just like she had done the last couple of days working on the case, she tried her hardest to repress the images that started to flood her mind. Images of the foster families she had stayed with, hopeful at first, then images of being given a garbage bag for her stuff when yet another family hadn't worked out, adding their name to the list on the bottom of her shoe, and images of being introduced to a class of kids at a new school, feeling lost and lonely among them. Repressing them was not an easy task, especially with Booth assuring her it was alright to feel this way about her own past and this case. To feel sad and disappointed; emotions she normally avoided.

To her own astonishment, a single tear managed to escape her eye and it slowly rolled down her cheek. Booth noticed and was quick to gently wipe it away with his thumb. The novelty of the action scared Brennan slightly, yet, at the same time, she felt tremendously cared for. To her, that was a strange sensation; one she had not experienced since her family had abandoned her over fifteen years ago. As much as she wanted to conceal the hurt from her partner, his compassion made her even more emotional. As if on cue, she shed another tear and Booth repeated the act, not breaking eye contact with her.

"It's okay," he told her softly, his heart once again breaking over her pain.

She shook her head. "This case just goes to show how damaging the foster system can be. His parents were killed before his own eyes, he ended up in the system and lived with seven families in three years before he was old enough to live on his own. He was a victim and ultimately became the offender."

"Offenders often have been victims themselves, but that doesn't mean that it's an excuse. Not a good one, anyway. And certainly not everyone ends up that way. I mean, look at you. You are…"

Brennan looked at him, wondering if he was going to finish that sentence and, more specifically, how.

"You are…" Booth repeated, stalling, as he was not sure how to phrase his feelings without revealing too much. "You have become an exceptional woman and I'm glad you're my partner."

"I'm glad you're mine," she replied sincerely, smiling at him.

He returned the smile, which slowly faded from his face as their eyes remained locked on each other. They didn't speak, just gazed. The moment was both comfortable, for it was familiar as they had found themselves in this situation many times before, and yet uncomfortable for they both felt the outcome was going to be different this time around as neither one had the desire to pull back.

Never breaking the stare, Booth leaned forward slightly. Then, fear suddenly beset his eyes and panic was aloft in his mind. Was he really going to kiss her? Was he really going to step over the line that he himself had drawn?

Apparently so.

He reached up with both hands and drew her lips to his own, giving her the gentlest kiss he could manage. Their lips moved slowly, explored slowly, the sensation almost hypnotizing.

When he pulled back, reluctantly ending the kiss, he was scared of her reaction to him having crossed the line. When he finally dared to open his eyes and look at her, he was relieved to find a small smile on her face. However, confusion was clearly etched in her eyes as well, mirrored by his own uncertainty, over what had just transpired between them. And why.

"I'll uhm…" Booth started, then cleared his throat. He hadn't imagined he'd feel so awkward after such an amazing kiss. "I'll call you tomorrow or stop by the Jeffersonian with the paperwork."

Brennan nodded quickly. "I will, too. I mean, if I'm done with it sooner than you, I will give you a call or come over to the FBI." She opened her bag and rummaged around for her keys. Having found them, she clicked the button to unlock her car. It wasn't until the sound of the beep had died down, that she looked back at Booth. "We'll speak tomorrow, then?"

"Yes," was the only thing he could say.

He longed to kiss her again, but she had stepped into her car already. She closed the door, buckled up, started the engine and drove off with a quick wave. He held up his hand, waving it slightly, before putting it back in his jeans pocket as he watched her disappear into the night.

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I'd love to hear your thoughts; positve or negative, constructive criticism is very welcome!

**_Chapter two will be online shortly!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

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Booth sat behind the desk in his office, playing with an old poker chip, a reminder of his gambling days. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and, having just finished his part of the paperwork on the Richardson case, he was pondering whether or not to call Brennan or to just show up at her office unannounced. Logic dictated he should call first and find out if she actually had time to compare notes. However, he wasn't sure how to behave himself after the kiss they had shared the previous night and, he figured, seeing her face-to-face would allow him to gauge her reaction first. Having made a decision, he shoved the poker chip back into his suit pocket, stood up and grabbed the paperwork from his desk.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself walking into the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal Lab. He searched for his partner on the platform. Not finding her on there, he headed straight for her office. She was sitting behind her computer, looking at colorful charts Booth couldn't decipher. She was concentrated on her work, which enabled Booth to watch her for a minute from the door opening. When she finally noticed him out of the corner of her eye and turned her attention to him, Booth's comfort level decreased significantly. He didn't know whether it was because she had caught him staring at her or because his mind immediately thought back to how she had looked at him the night before.

"Hi," he greeted her as he stepped further into her office.

"Hey. Done with the paperwork on your end?"

"Yeah. Got time to compare notes now? Or are you busy?"

"Well, I think you already know that I'm busy," Brennan replied, with an accusatory look on her face. "But it's a limbo case and I've been told many times, especially by you, that they can wait."

Booth laughed a little. "They can."

He sat down on her couch and patted the cushion, indicating for her to sit down next to him. She nodded, then saved the documents on her computer and grabbed her own case notes, taking them over to her partner. She sat down next to him, but made sure that the space between their bodies was more than just comfortable.

"Swap?" she asked as she held out the manila folder to him.

They exchanged the paperwork and began to read, signing their autographs where needed. About ten minutes into the process, Angela walked into the office. She took in the sight before her, reading their body language, then frowned. In her mind, something seemed off between the partners, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly.

"What's up with you two? Not fighting again, are we? I mean, the tension between you when you bicker is hot, but if you don't kiss and make-up afterwards, it's not very… useful," Angela grinned, staring at them pointedly.

Booth and Brennan both looked up at her in surprise and quickly, as if by habit, denied the accusation.

"Deny it all you want, but you really do seem uncomfortable with each other," Angela continued as she studied the expression on their faces." Did something happen between you?"

"What makes you think Bones and I are uncomfortable with each other?"

"Okay. You're sitting far apart from each other, slightly turned away and in complete silence. On top of that, the both of you seem awkward," she summed up, thinking it was interesting how Booth avoided answering her second question.

"We're reading case notes, Angela," Brennan told her friend, trying not to get annoyed with her as they'd had this conversation many times before.

"Working," Booth emphasized with a glare.

A slow little smirk spread over Angela's lips. She was not about to give up that easily. "Oh, right. Because you're just partners…"

"We are," Brennan confirmed.

"Can you spell denial?"

"Of course."

Angela rolled her eyes and noticed that Booth was trying to suppress a smile as well. "It's an expression, sweetie."

"Oh," Brennan said, looking at Booth for confirmation. When he nodded, she turned her attention back to Angela. "You brought your sketch book, so I'm sure you've got something else to share with us?"

"Yep," Angela replied, handing her the drawing and a manila folder with documents. "Limbo case number 110805. I entered my sketch of the face into the missing persons database. It came up with James O'Neal, missing since September 2004. His medical and dental records positively match the partial remains we have here."

"Nice work, Ange."

"Thanks. Can I leave this with you?"

Brennan nodded. "Just leave it on my desk. I'll take a look at it once Booth and I are finished with the case reports."

"Yeah… I have to make a phone call," Angela grinned. She placed the sketch and the folder on Brennan's desk, then quickly exited the office.

**BBB BBB**

**BBB BBB**

Once Angela had made it back to her own office, she searched for the phone number she needed, then quickly dialed it and waited for an answer.

"Lance Sweets," said the voice on the other side of the line.

"Sweets, hi. It's Angela."

"Hey, what's up?"

"Well, actually… when's your next session with Booth and Brennan?"

"Tonight at seven. Why?" Sweets answered hesitantly. "Wait. Are you and Dr. Hodgins reconsidering therapy?"

"No, we talked. We're cool now."

"Hmm. Obviously, I can't force you."

"Yeah, right…" Angela said, wondering what exactly he was hinting at. "Anyway, I asked because I was wondering if you could find out something for me about our favorite crime-fighting duo. I just walked in on them in her office and…"

"Walked in on them?" Sweets interrupted her. "Wow, that's…"

"Ah, not like that, unfortunately. They were working. But something was off. Perhaps it's just a feeling. I don't know how to explain it, or what it was exactly, but they were weird. Something happened between them in the last few days, I just know it. I asked, but obviously they're still in denial about their feelings for each other."

"And what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Find out what happened and report back to me."

"You know I can't do that."

"Therapist-patient privilege, I know. You can't make an exception?" she asked him, hopefully.

"Afraid not."

"Alright, I guess it was worth a shot. Will you find a way to ask them about it anyway? Just getting them to _think_ about their feelings for each other is a step in the right direction."

"Angela, it's basically couples counseling what I'm doing with them. What do you suppose my ultimate goal is?"

"Right. Okay, I'm just gonna have to trust you on that then."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," he replied sarcastically.

She laughed. "You're welcome. And good luck this evening. Hope you come up with something good."

"I always do."

**BBB BBB**

**BBB BBB**

After Booth had left her office, Brennan had taken a quick look at the folder Angela had left for her on her desk. She was, however, working on another limbo case, one that required her expertise more, which was why she returned to the charts she had saved on her computer earlier. Lost in her work, she didn't notice the time fly by. She was about to get herself another cup of coffee when she saw she was late for her appointment with Sweets. Thus, instead of getting the drink, she saved the files and left her office. She uttered a quick goodbye to Cam, whom she passed on the platform, then left the building and hurried over to her car. Leaving the underground parking lot with screeching tires, she headed for the FBI building. Stopping at a red light, she contemplated giving Sweets or Booth a call to inform them she was running late. Before she could speed dial either one of them, the latter was already calling her. She pushed the button, accepting his call, just as the light turned green.

"Bones, where are you?"

"Almost there. I'm sorry, I forgot about the time."

"Really? That's a first," Booth said with a pause. "Don't get me wrong, I don't really mind you being late. It means we have less time to spend with the kid and I sure like that."

She could hear Sweets complain in the background and she couldn't help but smile. "He's there with you?" she asked, spotting an empty parking place close to the entrance of the J. Edgar Hoover building.

"Yeah, I'm on the couch already," Booth replied. "I mean that literally, of course, not figuratively. He's not getting anything out of me. So, hurry a little, will you?"

"Parking as we speak," Brennan told him, before she disconnected. When she had parked her car, she hurried over to the building and made her way up to Sweets' office as quickly as she could. She didn't want to leave Booth alone with Sweets for too long, or vice versa. She knocked on the door before walking inside and sat down on the couch next to Booth and across from the clinical psychologist.

"Dr. Brennan, glad you could make it."

"Sorry I'm late. I was working on a limbo case and lost track of time."

"That's alright," Sweets said, accepting her apology, before he looked at both his clients. "So, I take it then that you've solved the case you were working on last time we spoke?"

"The Richardson case? Yep, closed it yesterday," Booth told him somewhat proudly.

"So, it was Richardson after all. Cool," Sweets said with a slight nod. The profiler in him was content, for he had recognized the probability of Richardson being the perpetrator early on. After mentally giving himself a pat on the shoulder—someone had to do it—he shifted his concentration back to his clients. He opened his notepad and looked at Brennan. "How do you feel about that?"

She frowned. "Obviously I'm glad we caught him."

Sweets smiled. "I understand. What I meant was, how does it make you feel that he turned out to be the murderer, knowing he was once in the foster system, as were you?"

"Do you really have to ask her that?" Booth interjected before Brennan could even answer.

"Booth, it's okay," Brennan said, placing her hand on his arm to assure him. She looked back at Sweets. "This case was just another reminder of what the system can do to children. And yes, it made me reminisce about my own experiences. It's not something I particularly enjoy, because it's a period in my life I'd rather forget about. However, Booth I and talked about it and he made me feel better."

Booth glanced at her and sent her a warm smile, which she returned.

Sweets took note of that moment between them, then returned to his questions. "So, what did you talk about exactly? What was it that truly touched you and made you feel better about the situation?"

"Don't you think that's a private conversation?" Booth remarked. "We're here because you might sever our partnership otherwise. That means that this _therapy_ is about work, not our private lives."

"In this case, they're interrelated, agent Booth. The murderer was a foster child and Dr. Brennan was in the system as well. You talked about work, about the case, during your time off. Therefore, they are interrelated."

"He does have a point there, Booth," Brennan stated.

"Which is why I would like to talk about it," Sweets continued. "Obviously, this case had an impact on Dr. Brennan, since it touched a very personal chord for her, and I think it's awesome that you were able to discuss this afterwards. It's an interesting development in your relationship. So, I would like to hear, from either one of you, what it was you talked about."

"You're right, Dr. Sweets. Having been in the system and knowing how terrible it can be, I couldn't help but identify with Richardson on some level. Therefore, I hoped it would turn out to be someone else, which I believed to be a foolish notion. Booth, however, tried to assure me that it's not at all foolish to hope for certain things, that it was okay for me to do so. To summarize, I felt sad and he consoled me."

Booth studied her face and wondered whether she really thought he'd kissed her merely to console her. While that was far from the truth, he still hoped at least Sweets believed it and wouldn't press further.

It did not turn out to be his lucky day.

"Do you remember what exactly it was that agent Booth said or did that consoled you?"

"Yes."

"Will you share that with me?" Sweets asked, urging her to elaborate.

"No, I feel that that is in fact private and between agent Booth and me."

Sweets sighed. "Remember guys, this is a Truth Zone. You can be honest here, _should_ be even. It'll allow me to help you more effectively, not to mention faster." The partners remained silent, however, forcing him to bring up another matter. "Agent Booth, when Dr. Brennan chose the word console to describe whatever… transpired between you, you looked troubled. Would you have used another word?"

Booth shook his head and sent the young therapist a glare, silently telling him to back off.

"Okay," Sweets said, clearly disappointed. Remembering Angela's phone call from that afternoon, he couldn't help but agree with her that something had changed in their relationship and he figured it had to do with the consolation incident. He jotted down a few quick notes, then looked back up at the pair. "I understand this is not something you're ready to talk about yet. At this point I can't do anything but accept that, so let's move on to the assignment I had planned for today."

Booth groaned. "What?"

"It's an assignment on verbal conflict. I'm giving you a text, which you'll have to read aloud together."

"You need a little bedtime story, Sweets?" Booth smirked.

"We could, of course, do the Thanksgiving exercise instead," Sweets replied calmly.

"Thanksgiving? That means you'll cook us a turkey?"

"I think he's referring to the Gottman Thanksgiving Checklist," Brennan told Booth.

"Exactly. I'll have the both of you select three things you really appreciate about each other from a list of items. Then you tell each other about those things you are thankful for."

"Yeah, verbal conflict it is," Booth quickly decided.

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**_Feedback is greatly appreciated!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I would like to thank those of you who've read and reviewed this new story of mine. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

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**Chapter Three**

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Having struggled through the verbal conflict assignment and the discussion it stirred up, Booth was glad the session was called short due to a phone call from Cullen, informing him that he was needed at a crime scene. He smiled at Sweets and helped Brennan out of her seat.

"Sorry, Sweets, gotta run!"

"Me, too?" Brennan asked as Booth gently pushed her towards the door.

"Yep, I'll fill you in on the way."

Brennan turned back to Sweets. "We'll have to finish this another time."

Sweets smiled sulkily at the pair. "I figured as much."

Brennan nodded, then followed Booth into the hallway and over to the elevator. Booth was the first to push the button and, to their surprise, the doors opened immediately. They stepped inside and rode it down to the lobby. As they walked over to Booth's newly issued Toyota Sequoia, Brennan made a quick call to Clark Edison, Zack's replacement, to inform him she was going to a crime scene instead of heading back to the Jeffersonian. She told him to go home, but to come in early the next morning, as she would probably need his assistance then. Ending the call, she stepped into the vehicle. As per usual, Booth drove and she rode shotgun.

"So, where are we headed?" Brennan asked as she buckled up.

"Homicide at the Cohen & Co. Fairground. A young woman found the dead body of her colleague inside the Hall of Mirrors," Booth informed her. "Sounds interesting, huh?"

"Depends on the circumstances, I would have to say," she replied with a small shrug.

"I meant where the remains were found. I loved those crazy mirrors as a kid. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did, too. I remember my mother taking Russ and me to the local fairground that operated just outside of Chicago. It was fun," she told him as her stomach began to rumble.

Booth looked at her. "Please tell me you ate something before you went to Sweets."

"I didn't," she said and he stared at her. "What? I told you I forgot about the time."

"Unbelievable," he responded, shaking his head as he dug up a Snickers bar from his suit pocket and handed it to Brennan. "Here, eat this."

"Thanks."

Booth flashed her a smile. "If you didn't have me…"

"I wouldn't have to go to therapy with you and I wouldn't be going to a crime scene right now. I would probably be at home, cooking."

"Right," he mumbled, but started grinning a moment later. "Mac 'n Cheese?"

"Probably not. I haven't prepared that in quite a long time actually."

"Well, when you do, invite me over. You owe me that for the Snickers."

"Or I could just give you the dollar it cost you."

"Nah, I want your cooking."

"Hmm… Angela once told me that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That expression never made any sense to me, but I suppose on a figurative level there seems to be some truth to it."

"Yeah…" he replied, his voice trailing off. He glanced over at her for a second, before concentrating on the road ahead again, and wondered if she was aware just how true that expression was. She had captured his heart and one of the many reasons behind that was the delicious meal she had once prepared for him after finishing a case. He had, in fact, hoped for a repeat performance, another invitation, ever since.

Studying the look on her partner's face, Brennan frowned. "Did I make you uncomfortable again?"

"No," he replied as he turned the car onto the car park outside the fairground. He noticed that FBI Forensic Tech Marcus Geier had been waiting for them at the entrance and was now walking over to them.

"I wasn't talking about sex, so is this a sensitive subject for you, as well?"

"It's not. Let's just ask Geier what he knows so far, okay?" he said, hitting the door handle. He climbed out of the car and greeted said man. When Brennan had gotten out of the car as well, Geier led them inside the fairground. "Anything you can tell us at this point?"

"Very little," Geier responded. "The park had just closed for the night when the game stall clerk, her name's Wendy, discovered the body at the Hall of Mirrors. She recognized him as her colleague Hugh Everton, 69, from Rockville, Maryland."

Booth nodded and scribbled down the information on the notepad he kept in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, the three of them continued their way through the fairground in silence, passing several attractions before they reached the Hall of Mirrors. Geier pushed the door open and held up the yellow crime tape, letting them inside. What they found was a room full of different types of curved mirrors. One of them was cracked down the side that would normally reflect the entrance door. On the floor, in a pool of blood, the body of Hugh Everton lay stomach down.

"This is a fresh kill, Booth. Shouldn't Cam be here instead of me?" Brennan remarked, eyeing the body. "You don't need me for this. Not my kind of case."

He shrugged. "Thought I'd give you an excuse to leave Sweets' office," he told her and she sent him a disapproving look in reply. "I'm sure you can be of use here."

"I hope so," she said, meaningfully. "I do have other work to attend to."

"The victim seems to have been stabbed in the back," Booth remarked, not wanting to get into another discussion with Brennan about her work and what it entailed. He knew he wasn't the only one who called upon her expertise, he was very much aware of that in fact, so he saw no need for her to constantly remind him of it. He looked at Geier, instead. "You found the murder weapon, yet?"

"No, the Tech Team is working on that right now. We're searching the victim's office for evidence as well."

Brennan slipped on a pair of latex rubber gloves and crouched down next to the victim for a closer look at the wound. "From what I can see, it appears to be a single posterior thoracic stab wound caused by a sharp object."

"Could it be a piece of glass that came from the mirror?" Booth wondered out loud.

"Possibly, but I can't tell you with certainty at this point."

"I know, no guesswork."

"I _can_ tell you that, if the weapon penetrated the innominate vein, death was most likely caused by exsanguination. Cam will have to confirm that, however."

"So, one fatal stab wound?" Booth summed up, writing it down in his notepad.

"That would be my preliminary finding, yes. Again, Cam will have to do a pathological examination of the body to confirm," Brennan answered as she looked around her. "Some shards that came from the mirror seem to be missing. What's lying on the floor here is certainly not enough to make up the broken part of the mirror. Assuming at this point that you're right about the weapon being a shard of glass, we're probably looking for a larger piece."

"Yeah, the FBI's on that," Booth said and Geier nodded in confirmation. "Since the victim has been identified already, I'd like to speak with the girl who found him."

"She and her boss are in his office waiting for you," Geier responded. "It's the first building on your left after you've passed the Big Wheel and the food court. Agent Spears is with them."

"Alright. Come on, Bones, let's question them, shall we?"

Brennan stood up and removed her gloves. Booth carefully took them out of her hands and passed them over to Geier, so he could dispose of them. Then, they left the Hall of Mirrors. Following the directions the Forensic Tech had given them, the partners had no trouble finding the office. Just like the rest of the fairground, it looked a bit run down. Booth knocked on the door and FBI agent Spears opened it for them. They entered and the first thing they noticed, apart from the old furniture, was how unusually hot and humid it was inside.

"I'm special agent Seeley Booth, FBI, and this is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth said, loosening his tie a little before he looked at the visibly upset young woman. "We understand you found the body?"

Wendy nodded. "Yes, I'm Wendy Fisher. This is my boss."

"Jacob Cohen. I own this fairground. I hope you guys will be able to solve this grim case quickly, otherwise I might have to permanently shut down operations. Business wasn't exactly booming to begin with and when this reaches the news, I'm not exactly expecting things to change for the better."

"Hmm," Booth said with a nod, now thinking about taking his tie off altogether. "Well, we have some questions for the both of you. I'd prefer to do it outside, since it's rather hot in here." He saw Brennan had already taken off her jacket as well, so he figured he wasn't the only one who couldn't stand the heat. He hooked his collar with a finger, pulling it from his neck.

"I apologize for that. The portable air conditioner is broken and Pete was supposed to repair it today. I guess he wasn't able to fix it yet and he must have gone home already," Cohen said, digging a hanky from his back pocket and wiping his glistening forehead.

"I understand. Miss Fisher, if you could step outside with us first?"

She nodded and silently followed Booth and Brennan outside, while agent Spears remained inside, keeping an eye on Cohen.

"Miss Fisher…" Booth started.

"Please, call me Wendy," she interrupted him.

"Alright, Wendy. We understand that you were the one to discover the body and you immediately recognized him as your colleague Hugh Everton?"

"Yeah, that was pretty scary, I tell you. I stayed rather late and noticed the lights were still on in the Hall of Mirrors, which is unusual. I can see it from my stall, you see. I'm in charge of running the game stall. Anyway, I went into the Hall of Mirrors and found Hugh. I freaked out. It was so awful, seeing him there, in that puddle of blood… Anyhow, when I'd calmed down a little, I called the police and then Mr. Cohen."

"He wasn't here at the time?"

"No, I think he had a meeting. I'm not sure. The park had closed already, so almost everyone had gone home for the day."

"And how long have you been working here?" Booth inquired and since he was asking all the questions, Brennan felt that her presence was even more pointless. All she could do was listen to Wendy's answers.

"For a little while. I got the job through my uncle. It's helping me pay for college. And since it can get pretty quiet around here, I bring my revision books and study for my exams."

"Why do you study here?" Brennan asked, finally able to take part in the questioning.

"I can only study here. I have six roommates, it's never quiet at home. So I stay late most nights and use the time alone to get some work done. My exams are in two weeks and I'm totally unprepared."

"Do you get on with the other staff here?" Booth wanted to know, taking over again.

"Sure. The guys often argue amongst themselves, but I stay out of it. Charles is a pretty hard guy to get on with, but he's got a good heart."

"I'm gonna need his last name, too."

"Oh, sorry. Charles Ringer," Wendy said, before she continued. "I got on well with Hugh, although no one could deny he was pretty useless at his job. Sometimes I'd try to help him with repairs or give him ideas for improvements, but he'd never get anything done. It really was quite frustrating. I always figured the boss would replace him, but now look what's happened."

Booth nodded. "You mentioned your uncle. He is employed here, too?"

"Yes, his name is Peter Warner. He's like a father to me. Pete cares a lot about my well-being. Like I said, he's the one who got me the job. He knows how much I care about the fairground and since he has a lot more contact with Mr. Cohen, he always runs my ideas by him. But like I said, nothing ever gets done here. Pete definitely shares my frustration. This place is pretty run down, but with a few improvements, I know it could be so much nicer. I really think it has potential."

"You think you could have done a better job than Hugh Everton?"

"Not to speak ill of the dead, but yes. Especially if Mr. Cohen would have invested in it. But money is tight, so I understand he couldn't take the risk. It's a shame, though."

"Alright, thank you for your time, Wendy. You can go home now. We'll contact you if we have more questions for you, okay?"

"Sure."

"Thank you," Brennan said as Wendy walked off.

Booth walked back to the office and informed agent Spears that they were ready to talk to Cohen now. The fairground's owner stepped outside and the two of them headed over to Brennan.

"Mr. Cohen, Wendy told us you weren't at the park when she found the victim. I'm sure you understand that we need to know your whereabouts."

"Of course. I had a meeting with the bank this afternoon. As I told you earlier, it's difficult to keep the fairground open and pay everyone's salary on time. I went to the bank to discuss the financial possibilities. I was on my way home when I got Wendy's call. I immediately turned the car around and came back here."

"So, Wendy was alone with the victim until you arrived?" Brennan inquired.

"I suppose so. I expected her uncle to be here, too, though."

"That would be Peter Warner?" Booth said, glancing at his notepad.

"Yes. Pete was supposed to fix the air conditioner, which he obviously didn't. Since I haven't had the chance to speak with him yet, I don't know why he didn't fix it. When I came in this morning, he helped me carry the costumes to my office and we both noticed how hot it was. I told him I had a meeting in the afternoon and asked him to do the repairs then."

"Costumes?" Booth questioned.

"Oh, they're for the entertainers here. I had them all dry-cleaned and the closet in which we keep them is located in my office."

At that moment, Geier walked up to the group, carrying two evidence bags with him.

"You found something interesting?" Booth asked the obvious question.

"What we think could be the murder weapon, actually," Geier said and held up the plastic bag that contained a large shard of glass with a piece of colorful fabric wrapped around it.

"Yes, that could very well be the weapon that was used to make the stab wound. It's certainly large and sharp enough," Brennan agreed. "Where did you find it?"

"The victim's office, behind some shelves."

"It's not really an office, more like a tool shed with a desk," Cohen told Booth and Brennan as he eyed the evidence. "That fabric looks really familiar."

Booth raised his eyebrows in surprise, hoping the man would be able to give them more information on the murder weapon. "It does?"

"Those costumes I was telling you about? It might come from the one Charles Ringer wears. He's one of the entertainers here."

"Really? Do you have it in your office?"

"It should be. We can check."

"Agent Booth, before you do that… We also found this," Geier said, holding up the evidence bag with a wire cutter inside. "It was in the garbage bin close to the Hall of Mirrors. It's not the murder weapon, but it might still have been used in relation to the homicide."

"Okay, thank you," Booth said, then looked at his partner. "Bones, you better take those with you to the Lab to have them examined first thing in the morning."

Brennan took possession of the evidence bags and then the three of them headed back into the office. Cohen opened the closet door to reveal the costumes.

"Let me see. This one is Ricky's," he said, moving aside a big bear costume to reveal the next outfit. "This one belongs to Charles." He took the hanger off the rack and showed it to them.

Booth's eyes widened when he recognized what it was exactly.

"Booth, do you see what this is?" Brennan asked him, amused. "It's a clown's costume."

"I noticed, yeah."

"You must be glad there's not a person in it right now."

Cohen frowned. "Something wrong?"

"Coulrophobia; my partner's afraid of clowns. Shot a clown's head on top of an ice-cream truck once and a real one, too, actually. Well, not real, obviously, but a man wearing a clown's costume."

"A killer clown and I don't think that's any of his business, Bones," Booth hissed.

"Maybe we should bring this up with Dr. Sweets," Brennan hissed back, from behind her hand.

"Dr. Sweets?" Cohen wondered, having heard her nonetheless. "Will he, or she, be involved in the case, too?"

"No, he's our therapist," Brennan explained as Booth shook his head at his partner. As always, she didn't know when to keep her mouth shut and, apparently, he still couldn't make her either.

Cohen couldn't help but emit a short laugh. "You two married?"

"No, we're just partners," they replied simultaneously.

"Could have fooled me," Cohen mumbled, but turned serious when he noticed something amiss with the costume. "There's a large rip here."

Brennan held the evidence bag next to the costume. "The cloth wrapped around the glass seems to have come from this costume. We'll have to take that with us as evidence as well."

"And we're gonna need you to give us Charles Ringer's contact information," Booth added, looking at Cohen.

The fairground's owner nodded and walked up to his desk. He searched in one of the drawers, took out a stack of papers and wrote down the necessary information on another slip of paper, which he handed over to Booth. "I take it this makes Charles a suspect now, but I just want to say that I've never had any problems with him. I know he's not the most easy-going man you'd ever meet and Hugh and he weren't exactly the best of friends, but he's a good man. Great with the kids, as well."

"Alright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Cohen," Booth responded.

The partners left the office and made their way back to the Hall of Mirrors.

"You need to take another look inside before we leave?" Booth asked Brennan when they reached the attraction.

"Has the forensic team taken pictures of the crime scene and the remains?"

"Of course. From every angle you can imagine."

"And all necessary investigative samples will be sent to the Jeffersonian for particulate evidence?"

"Everything will be there by morning."

"Then, no."

"Alright, then I suggest we head home as well and meet up at your Lab first thing tomorrow morning."

"Sure," Brennan said as they headed for the exit. "So, who do you like?"

Confused, Booth looked at her. "Who do I like?"

"Yeah, I heard Cullen ask you that question once in relation to who you thought would be the most likely suspect at that point in our investigation."

"And you remembered?" Booth asked in amazement. "Well, Fisher seems to have a problem with Hugh, but Ringer is looking more suspicious at this point, I think. I'll have him brought in for questioning ASAP."

"And Cohen? Did you get a good read on him?"

Booth smiled. "Wow, you're really getting a hang of the cop talk, huh?"

"I learn from you just as much as you learn from me," she said with a slight shrug.

"I like it," Booth replied as they exited the fairground and walked over to the vehicle. He dug up its keys from his pocket as he continued. "I'll have agent Charlie Burns check out his story with the bank, but my money's not on Cohen, no."

Brennan nodded pensively. "Your money's not on Cohen. I suppose I should remember that expression as well."

Booth winked. "I would."

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**_Feedback is greatly appreciated! I'd love to hear what you think. _**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** thanks to those who are reading and reviewing this story. The procedural part of the story is not my strong suit, so I really hope you'll enjoy it. Constructive criticism is, therefore, even more appreciated!

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**Chapter Four**

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Booth thanked the security guard waiting outside by the door and entered the interrogation room. He took a seat across from Charles Ringer, who seemed rather aggravated. Booth studied him for a moment, then opened the manila folder he had placed in front of him on the stainless steel table.

"I've been here since seven thirty this morning. I'd really like to know what's going on," Ringer spoke up when Booth still hadn't said anything. "If you're not gonna…"

Booth didn't let him finish his rant. "You work at the Cohen & Co. Fairground as an entertainer, more specifically a clown located outside the fun house. Correct?"

"Yes. Is that why I'm here?"

"Hugh Everton was murdered last night at the Hall of Mirrors and you, Charles Ringer, are the prime suspect."

"Because I'm a clown? Who made that wonderful leap of logic?"

Booth stared at the man. "You don't seem particularly surprised your colleague is dead."

Ringer leaned forward. "Look, I know Hugh and I never got on, but I can tell you one thing… I'm not capable of murder or anything close. Look at me. Is this the face of a killer?"

Booth decided it was best not to answer that for all he could see were images of a killer clown. "If you're not the killer, I'm sure you have an alibi. Tell me where you were yesterday."

"At the fun house, of course. You know, being a clown and all that."

"I meant at the time your colleague was murdered."

"And what time was that?"

"Sometime after the fairground had closed, so between six and seven o'clock at night. Where were you?" Booth asked, putting emphasis on the last three words.

"Usually I leave as soon as my shift ends, but last night I went home around six fifteen. I had a… hold up. But I didn't see anything suspicious when I walked past the Hall of Mirrors on my way out. The only strange thing was that the lights were on. I didn't think anything of it, though. Not really my problem, you see."

"What hold up?" Booth wanted to know.

"I had an argument with another colleague. He'd hid my clown's nose and I went to get it back. He actually wanted me to think he hadn't stolen it, but that he had found it outside the Hall of Mirrors. As if I…"

"The Hall of Mirrors, huh?"

Ringer frowned, realizing that rendered him even more suspicious. "He tried to make me believe that's where he found it, but I hadn't been there, okay? I have no business being there, it's not my location. I was at the fun house the whole day."

"And the name of the colleague who'll have to corroborate this story is…"

"Ricky Velasquez."

Booth wrote the name down. "You two fight often?"

"We didn't fight. We had an argument and, yes, it happens occasionally."

"And how long have you been working at the fairground?"

"A long time. Too long, in fact."

"Too long?"

"I don't really like the way things are going around there. I've no idea why I haven't left for good. I was appalled when the boss hired Everton to look after the fun house. Not only was he utterly useless at his job, he was nearly completely deaf. It's just not practical. Still, no one deserves… well, you know."

"Do you get on with the rest of the staff?"

"Uhm… that'd be a bit of an exaggeration, I'm afraid. I don't mind Wendy and her uncle, but, like I said before, that Ricky 'I'm a top notch entertainer' Velasquez character is just too much. He doesn't even like kids. What a joke. He doesn't take any pride in his work."

"And on top of that he misplaced your clown's nose," Booth added mockingly.

"Yes."

Booth decided this was the perfect opportunity to bring up the ripped costume. "So, help me out here, Charles. Who are you to talk pride when you work in a costume that has a large rip in it?"

"I don't know how that happened, but it wasn't my fault. When I picked up my outfit from the costume closet in Cohen's office when my lunch break was over, it was ripped and part of it was missing. I actually had to use a safety pin to hold it together. Anyway, I wouldn't put it past Velasquez to do something childish like that."

"So, you took your costume off during your break?"

"We're not supposed to eat in them, especially since they just came back from the dry-cleaner."

"Right. We found the missing piece of cloth from your costume wrapped around the murder weapon. How do you explain that?"

"I can't."

"You can't?"

"I think I'll want to talk to a lawyer now."

"I understand," Booth said, pushing his chair back. He made his way out of the interrogation room, leaving Ringer in the care of the security guard, until the lawyer would arrive.

**BBB BBB**

**BBB BBB**

Later that morning, Booth went over to the Jeffersonian Institute to see how far the squints had come with examining the evidence. When he headed over to the pathology room, he saw that Cam was still working on the autopsy. He walked further inside and grabbed a dust mask.

"Anything you can tell me yet?" he asked, holding the mask up to his mouth and trying not to look at the remains.

"That Dr. Brennan was right. I can confirm her initial finding that the victim has a single right-sided posterior thoracic stab wound made by a piece of glass. It penetrated the left innominate vein as well as the aortic arch. Death was caused by exsanguination. Basically, he bled out. I haven't concluded the autopsy, but so far there seem to be no other wounds. If there are, they weren't fatal."

"No defense wounds on the hands either?" Booth asked and Cam shook her head. "So, he never saw it coming. Makes sense, since he was stabbed in the back."

"Yeah. I also tested the blood that was left behind on the piece of glass. It matched Everton's DNA," Cam continued. "The glass, along with the other evidence that was brought in, is with Hodgins and Edison now for further examination."

"And Bones? She in her office?"

"As far as I know. You didn't see her yet?"

"I just got in," Booth replied and she gave him a doubtful look. "Your workplace is closest to the entrance."

"You didn't hear me say anything."

Booth pointed his thumb towards Brennan's office. "I'm gonna go see if she's busy."

"Okay."

Booth left the room, dropping the dust mask in a nearby disposal. He crossed the Lab to his partner's office. Knocking once on the open glass door to announce his arrival, he walked inside.

Brennan looked up from her work and then at her wristwatch.** "**It took the FBI until now to bring Ringer in for questioning?"

"No, I already questioned him this morning."

"What?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Without me?" she asked, trying to hide how much it actually hurt her to find out he evidently hadn't wanted her to be there during the interrogation. She didn't understand, for he was usually so keen on involving her in every aspect of the investigation.

"Yeah…" he said, realizing he'd made a terrible mistake not having included her. The narrowing of her eyes and the furrowing of her brows served as confirmation. He knew he was in trouble now.

"Why didn't you call me? You didn't want me there?"

"Bones, last night you said you had more important stuff to work on."

"Not more important, _as_ important," Brennan stressed. "But then you got me involved in the case and you know I want full participation."

"Yeah, I know that. Look, Bones, I'm sorry. I don't know why I didn't check with you first. But I'm going to question Ricky Velasquez later today, if you want to come…"

"I do."

Booth nodded. "Okay."

"So, how did it go with Ringer? I take it he didn't confess to the murder?"

"Claims he's innocent and had nothing to do with his costume getting ripped. Cohen was right about him being a difficult man, though. Seems he had problems with Hugh as well as with this Velasquez person."

"What kind of problems?"

Booth snorted. "They fought over a lost clown's nose."

"You talked about clowns with him?" Brennan couldn't help but grin. "He didn't scare you, did he?"

"You know, maybe that's why I didn't want you there, Bones. Making fun of me, ruining the whole interrogation," Booth replied roughly, then took a deep breath in order to keep his calm. The atmosphere between them was tense enough as it was, without adding another item to the list to bicker about. "Anyway, you got anything to tell me on your side of the investigation?"

"The wire cutter had no blood traces on it, but we did find a partial finger print. Angela ran it through the NCIC and AFIS databases, but no match. Hodgins and Edison are searching for other evidence on the piece of cloth and the costume right now. As for the shard of glass, it indeed served as the murder weapon. We found glass particles in the wound and Cam identified the blood on the shard of glass as Hugh Everton's."

"Yeah, I know, Cam told me. Stabbed with the glass once, he bled to death."

Brennan frowned. "So, not only did you not call me about the interrogation, you spoke about the case with Cam first? What happened to us being _partners_?"

"The autopsy room is closer to the entrance," he mumbled for lack of a better justification, recycling the excuse he'd given Cam earlier.

"It just seems like you're avoiding me."

"I'm not."

"Is it because of the kiss?" Brennan asked, intent on finding out.

"Of course not," Booth said, his face slightly flustered just by the mention of it. "You said it, it was nothing..."

"Great, then we can just forget about it. I mean, you were being a good friend and I won't forget that. It meant a lot to me that you cared. But it wasn't a pleasant evening for the most part, so I'd rather move on."

"I understand," Booth replied quickly, although he felt disappointed that she still regarded the kiss as a friendly gesture of consolation. Since she had so obviously misjudged his intentions, he agreed it was best to forget about it altogether, although he wasn't sure if he could. "So, you wanna come to the fairground with me now?"

"To question Velasquez?" Brennan said as she rose from her desk chair. "Yeah, I have time."

"Great, let's go."

**BBB BBB**

**BBB BBB**

Booth and Brennan walked through the fairground and could easily perceive why the park was in financial trouble. There were visitors, but certainly not as many as there had been in its glory days. Brennan mentioned to Booth that this situation was a good example of circular cause-and-effect. The lack of visitors meant a lack of profits, which in turn meant there was no money to invest in improvements. No improvements meant the inability to attract more visitors. Booth could only agree.

The pair reached Cohen's office and informed him of the process so far. The victim's family—his only relative being his daughter—had been informed of his death, Ringer had officially been interrogated and was still a suspect at that point. They further informed Cohen that the glass from the Hall of Mirrors was indeed the murder weapon and that exsanguination due to a single stab wound was the official cause of death. Cohen, in turn, informed Booth and Brennan that, now the Hall of Mirrors had been cleared and cleaned by the FBI, he had placed an order for a new mirror, for which he didn't actually have a budget. He was, however, desperate to open the fairground to the public again, so as not to lose too much income. Booth then told him they needed to speak to Ricky Velasquez and asked where said employee could be found. After Cohen had given them directions, they went on their way.

Finding Velasquez at the designated location, wearing his bear costume, the partners waited until he finished his act with the two children that were with him. Noticing their presence, he seemed to cut the act short, sending the children back to their parents. He removed the bear head, putting it under his arm, and walked up to Brennan and Booth.

"Can I help you?"

"FBI, special agent Seeley Booth and my partner Dr. Brennan," Booth said, holding up his badge. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Velasquez nodded. "About the murder."

"That's right. We need to know everything you saw. In as much detail as you can manage."

"Okay. Let's see. I went home right after I'd returned my costume to the office, so that must have been around six fifteen, six thirty at the latest. On my way out I saw Hugh outside the Hall of Mirrors… that's where it happened, right? He was heading inside actually, mumbling something about someone leaving the lights on. I guess he went in to switch them off. I went home myself. I can't believe that was the last time I'd see him."

"You didn't see anything else? Nothing suspicious?" Booth pressed.

"No, nothing."

"How do you get along with your colleagues?"

"We're all one big happy family."

"Are you being sarcastic?" Brennan asked him, not sure what to make of his answer.

Velasquez glanced at Booth for a second before elaborating. "Well, things haven't exactly been easy around here lately, so yes, sometimes we take our frustrations out on each other. We don't always get along. For instance, a few people thought Everton was a waste of space, but he kind of was. I mean, take the fun house. It's a tip. It's not really safe. I remember Fisher saying she could do a better job of running it. Anyway, I just kind of keep to myself, usually."

"Usually, because sometimes you pick a fight with Charles Ringer," Booth remarked.

"He said that?"

"He referred to a lost clown's nose," Brennan elaborated.

"Oh, that. Yeah, I found it at the Hall of Mirrors yesterday and he accused me of hiding it there, while all I did was find it and return it to him. Ringer can be real immature sometimes. No wonder he's a clown, he's just a kid himself."

"And you're a teddy bear," Booth pointed out.

"Okay, you got me there, but I don't stoop so low as to hide his red nose."

"Would you stoop so low as to rip his costume?"

"He said that, too?" Velasquez exclaimed, getting angrier by the minute. "It's not true, okay? I did no such thing. I wouldn't even have the opportunity to do that. It's either on him or in the closet. Since he comes in earlier in the morning and we don't have lunch at the same time, it couldn't have been me. I didn't have access to his costume."

"Alright, that's it for now. We'll contact you if we have any more questions," Booth said with a nod, indicating he was finished taking his statement, even though he hadn't heard what he had hoped for.

Velasquez put the bear head back on and left, in search of children to entertain with his act. Booth and Brennan shared a look, then headed back to the car park, discussing ways to find out how the piece of clothing had found its way around the shard of glass. They figured that solving that mystery would most likely lead them to the killer.

**_

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_****_Love to hear what you think!_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** thanks again to those who have left a review. This chapter is a little bit shorter than usual, but has a lot of girl talk, so I hope that makes up for it! And, as always, I'd love to hear what you think of it...

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Booth had dropped Brennan off at the Jeffersonian Institute after they had returned from the fairground. Walking into the Lab, she headed straight for the platform to find out if Hodgins and Edison had any new results to share with her. The only thing they hadn't been able to explain so far were the oil particulates—mostly carbon-heavy alkanes—that Hodgins had found on the costume, the glass and cloth as well as on the wire cutter.

"The oil particles on the submitted objects were all of the same type?" Brennan inquired, looking at the test results she'd been handed.

"Yes," Hodgins confirmed. "I did a Principal Components Analysis and I couldn't observe any significant compositional differences between the evidence samples."

"At least we can tie the wire cutter to the murder now," Edison remarked. "That's something."

"Yes, I agree, although I'm not sure how that helps us at this point since the NCIC and AFIS databases didn't yield a match for the fingerprint," Brennan said. "Hodgins, can you try to find out what kind of oil it is? Fuel oil, lubricating oil, something else. A brand perhaps? Maybe that will give us more to go on."

"I'll get right on it," the entomologist replied enthusiastically.

Brennan left the platform and headed over to her own office. She sat down on her couch and thought about the case for a moment, letting the facts roam through her mind. Unwillingly, but not surprisingly, her thoughts kept drifting to her partner. Their relationship had become slightly strained after the Richardson case, she could tell that much. What puzzled her more, however, was that Booth seemed to avoid her when he had been so caring before. Comprehending that she was far from a relationship expert, she knew she had to seek help elsewhere.

She rose from the couch, left her office and walked over to Angela's workplace. She found her friend sitting behind the computer.

"Hey, Bren," Angela greeted her warmly, looking up from her screen. "I'm still working on a module for that geometric morphometric analysis method you asked me to enter into the Angelator. Unfortunately, it's not as easy as I thought it would be."

"That's okay, Ange. It's not what I came here for. Can we talk for a moment?"

"Always," Angela replied, noticing the distressed look on Brennan's face. She stood up and guided her over to the couch. They sat down, facing each other. "What do you need to talk about, sweetie?"

"Booth."

Angela smiled brightly. "Really?"

Brennan blew out her breath on a long sigh, not really sure how to start. "You were right about us being uncomfortable around each other. He's… different. I feel like he's been avoiding me. Just this morning, for instance, we were supposed to question a suspect, but he went ahead without me. He apologized for it and then we went to question another suspect together and it felt better, but I don't think we really resolved everything. This will sound utterly ridiculous, but I think he used to be more physical with me, as well."

"Physical as in a guiding hand on your lower back, a touch, a hug?"

"Yes, exactly. Although Booth calls it a guy hug," Brennan replied, glad Angela seemed to understand the problem. "It's not exactly my strong suit, but that means something, right?"

Angela nodded. "Certainly. So, when did he stop doing that?"

"Not long after we finished the Richardson case. That's when it became apparent to me, at least."

Angela bit her lip. "That was a tough one for you."

"Yes, and he actually tried to make me feel better about it. He was very compassionate in his actions. I don't know what happened that changed that."

"Maybe he thought you weren't… responsive?" Angela remarked, choosing her words carefully.

Brennan thought of the kiss and she could only conclude that she had definitely been responsive. That couldn't have been the problem. "I was."

"Listen, sweetie, I wouldn't worry about it too much. He's probably just giving you a little bit of space to think about things. It was a tough case for you personally. He knows that and he cares about you."

"I know he does. He's a great partner and friend."

"And I bet a great kisser," Angela smirked. She couldn't help bringing it up.

"Ange…"

"Aren't you curious, though? I know I am."

Brennan shook her head. "No."

"Really?"

"There's no need for me to be curious."

Angela looked cynical. "You're trying to tell me that there's some anthropological theory that tells you what kissing your partner in crime will be like?"

"No, one cannot be curious about something one has experienced already. That would be a contradictio in terminus."

Angela looked at her for a second, letting that piece of information register in her mind. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh my God, you guys have kissed already?"

"Twice, to be accurate," Brennan replied evenly.

"Twice? My God, Bren, why didn't you tell me?" Angela exclaimed, not understanding why she had kept something this big from her. Then, her brain reminded her of Brennan's characteristics and things made sense again.

"I could tell you now," Brennan proposed, starting to realize that this was evidently something she was supposed to have shared already considering they were best friends.

"Yes, please."

"The first time we kissed was last Christmas, but it…"

"Last Christmas? That's almost a year ago."

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Yes, yes, go on."

"I suppose it started with Caroline Julian. She felt impish and playful at the time…" Brennan began. "Do you remember the trailer she arranged for my family back then, so we could celebrate Christmas together?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, she would only help me on one condition. Booth and I had to kiss for as long as five Mississippi's. Well, actually, she referred to them as steamboats."

"And you agreed, you naughty girl," Angela squealed excitedly. "Was it totally hot? What about Booth, he liked it, right?"

"I don't know, but I suppose so. I'm a good kisser, after all. He thanked me for the gum."

"Oh, sweetie, you gave him a piece of gum before locking lips?" Angela asked with an almost horrified look on her face.

"No, he declined, but I took some myself."

"Ah, so you had to have swapped gum _during_ the kiss," Angela exclaimed, now understanding what had transpired and liking it. "Hot. Definitely hot."

"It was like kissing my brother," Brennan denied, repeating the words she had told Caroline at the time.

"Oh, come on. You ever swapped gum with Russ that way? I don't think so, sweetie. So, what about the second kiss? When did that happen? New Year's Eve?"

"No, a couple of days ago. The night we finished the Richardson case, actually, after we'd had coffee at the Royal Diner."

"I knew something had happened between you two, then. See, I can always tell, no matter how much you deny it. I called you on it and I was right."

"I suppose…"

"So, how did it happen? And please don't tell me you were blackmailed into this one as well."

"No, like I told you before, Booth merely tried to console me when I was sad and confused over the whole foster issue. That's why he kissed me."

Angela released a sigh in disappointment since Brennan still didn't seem to get it. "You are so wrong, my friend."

"I'm not wrong, Angela. He kissed me. If you don't believe me, you could ask him yourself, although he would probably deny it…"

"Like the two of you always do, about everything," Angela replied, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, what I meant was that consoling you was not the reason he kissed you."

"Why else? It's the only logical explanation. I cried and he kissed me to make it better. That's even an expression, I know that. I've used it in one of my novels once."

"Yes, while that is true, he kissed you because he _loves_ you. That's why. He might have felt sad for you, shared your pain, sure, but that's because he loves you, is in love with you," Angela told her, stressing the last four words. She grinned. "So, as soon as you admit you're in love with him as well, you two can finally hook up for real and live happily ever after."

Brennan looked as if that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "It doesn't work that way."

"Yes, it does," Angela replied, although she knew she'd been pushing it.

"Not for us. Not for me. There's no happily ever after in real life. It's what children are told in fairy tales. It doesn't work that way. Just look at you and Hodgins."

"Okay, I have to admit that you've got a point there, but this is not about Jack and me. We had issues you and Booth don't have and, in a way, I think you two have already come much further than we ever did," Angela told her.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Your relationship is built on trust. Jack and I didn't have that, which is why it fell apart and everything became one big mess," Angela explained with a sad sigh. "Anyway, that kiss must be the reason why things are weird between you now. He probably feels hurt and awkward. I mean, he kissed you and you think it was some friendly gesture that was supposed to make you feel better about the case and your past."

"And you obviously think it wasn't," Brennan said with a pensive nod. "So, what should I do?"

"Well, what do you _want_ to do?"

"That's a psychological question."

"Isn't that what you came to me for? A different perspective?"

"Yes, that's true," Brennan conceded.

"So, what do you want?"

"I…" she started, but then paused and released a sigh. "I want things to get back to the way they were before. We were a good team."

Angela raised her eyebrows in a mixture of disappointment and sadness. She let out a sigh herself. "Do you really? You want nothing more from him?"

"We're just partners…" Brennan said, but let the sentence die down for she now began to realize how far from the truth it was.

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**_Feedback is greatly appreciated!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note:** a huge thank you to those of you who have left a review. I loved finding them in my inbox; they made my day! Hope you'll all like this new chapter.

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**Chapter Six**

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It wasn't like Brennan to lose sleep over something—anything—for she prided herself on mastering the art of compartmentalizing. Therefore, she had no clue why she couldn't have found sleep that night and how, instead, she had been restless with thoughts of Booth, the tension between them and her conversation with Angela. It confused her to no end.

Yawning, due to the lack of sleep, she strolled into the FBI building the next morning, taking the elevator up to her partner's office. They had an appointment with Sweets that morning, but she needed to talk to Booth in private first. Arriving at the right floor, she left the narrow confines of the elevator, intent on finding out if Angela had been right and, hopefully, resolving their problems. Without knocking, she walked into Booth's office and up to his desk.

"Morning, Bones," he greeted her, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. "Have you read the Washington Post? There's another article about the fairground in it."

"No, I haven't. Angela thinks I hurt you. Did I?" she asked him, not beating around the bush.

He put down the paper. "What makes her think that?"

"The kiss."

His eyes widened in distress. "You talked to her about that? Don't you think that's personal… private… between us?" he exclaimed in a stutter. "And what happened to your plan of moving on?"

"Our partnership feels strained, Booth, and I needed her advice. She basically told me that we are uncomfortable with each other because I misjudged the kiss. That's how she thinks I hurt you. I need to know if she's right."

"Can we not talk about this now? We have to see Sweets in ten minutes."

"Now seems like a good time. You rather want to talk about it _during_ therapy?"

"Absolutely not. Sweets would have a field day. It's none of his business, anyway."

"So, you don't want to resolve this? You like the way things are between us right now?"

"We can resolve it by forgetting about it and moving on, just like you suggested."

"Obviously, we can't," Brennan sighed. "Why _did_ you kiss me? Was it to make me feel better or because you're in love with me?"

"In love with you?" Booth repeated, hoping his gulp hadn't been audible.

"That's what Angela seems to think."

"You really shouldn't talk to her about these things, you know how she is."

"Yes, she's usually right about these things. And judging by your actions, she might be right this time as well. Is she?"

"_My_ actions?"

"The point is, we kissed and ever since then things have been awkward."

"Things are not awkward. It's just… stress from not having solved this case yet," Booth told her, trying to sound confident, as he stood up from his desk. "Let's just talk to Sweets."

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Sweets studied the partners as they sat down across from him. The manner in which they walked into his office and took their places on the couch always told him a lot. That morning their entrance spoke volumes. There was definite tension. Based on his last session with them, he had decided to have them fill out the same questionnaire he had given them during one of their first meetings. Seeing them this morning, he was even more content he'd made that decision. The outcome would be extremely interesting and he couldn't wait to examine it.

"You're doing one of your silent exercises again?" Booth spoke up, getting uncomfortable under the therapist's stare.

"Actually, I had something else in mind for today's session," Sweets replied and grabbed the two questionnaires from the coffee table that stood between them. He held them out to the partners.

"Another questionnaire?" Booth said, taking a closer look at what he'd just been handed.

"Not another questionnaire, the exact same one in point of fact."

"Did you misplace them or is there a problem with our answers?" Brennan wondered.

"Neither. It's just that it was wicked insightful and since roughly a year has passed, I'd like you to fill them out again, so I can compare your answers to last years."

"What exactly will that tell you?" Booth inquired, not liking the words 'wicked insightful' in relation to having to provide the young therapist with an insight into his personality through his answers. He didn't want his personal feelings and desires to be labeled that way, better yet, he didn't feel like sharing them with Sweets in the first place.

"Obviously, I don't know yet."

Brennan opened the questionnaire booklet. "We need to do this right now? Here?"

"No, you can take them with you. If I could have them back by tomorrow morning, that would be awesome. That is, of course, if you have enough time to answer them today. In that case, we can discuss the outcome tomorrow afternoon? Say, at five?"

Booth looked at Sweets. "Does that mean we can go now?"

Sweets nodded. "That's correct."

"Great," Booth replied as he got up from the couch. Brennan mirrored his actions and followed him to the door.

"Agent Booth, I'm sure you remember from last time that there's an essay question. Please, take the time to answer it seriously. I think your partnership deserves that much."

Booth glanced at Brennan for a moment, before looking back at Sweets. "Sure."

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When the partners returned from their shortest therapy session with Sweets to date, they found Jacob Cohen sitting on a chair right outside of Booth's office, evidently waiting for them.

"Good morning, Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan," the fairground's owner greeted them, getting up from the chair and firmly shaking their hands.

"Mr. Cohen, what brings you here?" Booth asked and opened the door to his office for the man. "Why don't we step inside?"

"This morning's paper, actually," Cohen replied as he entered the office, followed by Brennan and Booth. "There was another article in the Washington Post."

"Yeah, I read it," Booth said as they all sat down.

"Then you must understand my concerns. The longer it takes to solve this case, the more visitors I lose. The fairground's been in my family for more than sixty years, I really don't want to have to close it."

"We understand, Mr. Cohen. We're doing the best we can to solve the case and find the murderer."

"And I have faith that you will. That's not why I'm here. It's just that the article made me think about what happened that day. There's one thing, other than the murder itself, that puzzles me and that's why my mechanic hadn't fixed the portable air conditioner. I talked to him and he said he just forgot. He's worked for my family for over thirty years, so I want to believe him. Anyway, when I took a look at the thing myself, I saw that the wire was cut. I only noticed this morning, so I'm not sure when that was done, or even who did it, but if I remember correctly you found a wire cutter in a garbage bin."

"We did," Brennan confirmed.

"Right. So, I can't help but think it's somehow connected to the murder."

"You suspect your mechanic?" Booth asked. "That would be Peter Warner, right?"

"Yes. Look, I don't suspect him. Like I said, Pete's been with me for a long time and we have a good relationship. We never had any problems. I also don't mean to meddle in your investigation, but I thought that it might be useful information. Besides, I don't want to be charged with obstruction of justice, or something like that. I've got enough problems as it is."

"It was wise of you to come here, Mr. Cohen," Booth acknowledged. "A lot of people have access to your office, however, am I right?"

"That's true. It could have been anyone. It's never locked during opening hours and most of my employees have keys."

"We should dust the air conditioner for fingerprints, see if there are any on it that match the partial print we found on the wire cutter," Brennan mentioned, looking over at Booth.

Cohen looked worried. "I think my fingerprints will be all over it, too. Usually, I'm the one who turns it on and off. After all, it is my office."

"We can identify and discern different fingerprints and see if there's one that matches the one left behind on the wire cutter," Brennan explained to him. "So, if that's not your fingerprint, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"I've never touched that wire cutter. I'm not technical at all, it's why I hired a mechanic in the first place. Pete does all the maintenance and repairs at the fairground, while Hugh did some of the simpler maintenance work," Cohen told them. "But the wire cutter is not the murder weapon, right? You told me it was the glass from the mirror. So, Pete's innocent, it can't be him…"

"Everybody's innocent until proven guilty. But we'll definitely look into it," Booth promised.

"Okay," Cohen said with a nod and stood up.

"Dr. Brennan and I will have to make some arrangements about how to proceed. In the meantime, can you make sure that your office will be off-limits to everyone?"

"Of course. Thank you for your time."

Booth smiled politely. "No problem."

As soon as Cohen had left the office and was out of earshot, Brennan leaned over to Booth, looking at him. "Booth, it has to be Warner. The oil we found on the wire cutter was of the same type as the oil found on the glass and the costume."

"And Warner is a mechanic. He must work with oil," Booth added in response, finishing her train of thought.

"Hodgins is analyzing oil samples to find out what type it was exactly."

"Alright. We'll head over to the Jeffersonian to ask Hodgins if he's found anything yet, then we'll drive over to the fairground, dust for fingerprints and question Warner."

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The partners arrived at the Medico-Legal Lab and found Hodgins at his workstation in his usual position, bent over a microscope. Noticing their presence, he looked up at them.

"Were you able to specify the type of oil?" Brennan asked him.

"Yes, I compared the gaschromatogram of the samples and I…"

"Gaschromo-what?" Booth asked.

"Gaschromatography is a common analytical method for comparing oil samples," Hodgins explained. "Generally, gaschromatograms of two oil samples are compared by comparing the shapes of the envelops of the n-alkanes, the unresolved backgrounds and individual peak intensities."

"Right," Booth replied, sounding unconvinced.

"What did you find?" Brennan inquired.

"It a lubricant oil. One of the most common ways to characterize liquid lubricants is by the type of base oil used. In this case mineral oil. Chemically, mineral oils mostly consist of carbon-heavy alkanes, which are compounds that are made up of just carbon and hydrogen molecules. That's what I initially found on the evidence."

"Typically, lubricants contain 90 base oil and less than 10 additives. The additives deliver reduced friction and wear, increased viscosity, and resistance to corrosion and oxidation," Brennan summed up.

"Among others, yes. Good quality lubricants are usually formulated with additives that form chemical bonds with surfaces to prevent corrosion and rust," Hodgins mentioned. "I can't say the oil found on the evidence belongs to that category. It's a lubricant, sure, but certainly not the best kind." He looked at Booth. "Cheap stuff."

"Well, the fairground probably doesn't have the financial means to use quality products," Booth reasoned.

"Using a good quality lubricant will protect the equipment better. If it prevents corrosion and rust longer, it's a good investment," Hodgins argued.

Brennan nodded. "I agree."

"I think they're more worried about paying everyone's salary on time," Booth said. "Anyway, if it's lubricant oil, the evidence points to Warner all the more. We should go pay him a visit at the fairground, Bones."

"Right. I'll go and get my kit, so we can dust for fingerprints as well," Brennan replied and made her way over to her office. She grabbed the supplies she needed and put everything in her bag. She was just about to head back to Booth when Angela entered her office.

"Have you done something yet?" the artist asked with a grin.

"Define something," Brennan replied.

"Well, off the top of my head… oh, I don't know, tell Booth how you feel," Angela said, stressing the last part.

"Then, no."

"Why not?"

"What's the use, Angela? He's the one who drew the line and doesn't want to cross it."

Angela frowned. "He drew the line? By kissing you? I don't understand."

"No before," Brennan sighed. "I did try to talk about the kiss this morning, but he was adamant. I'd suggested earlier that we'd move on and now he's intent on doing just that."

"Because his ego was bruised."

"No, because the kiss didn't mean anything to him."

"Ah, so it did mean something to you."

"I admit I felt… something," Brennan said as she slung the bag over her shoulder. "Ange, I really need to go now. Booth's waiting."

"Alright," Angela nodded, feeling somewhat disappointed. "I'm here if you feel like talking."

Brennan nodded, then left her office. She walked back to Hodgins' workstation, but Booth was nowhere to be seen.

"He's getting coffee," Hodgins explained, pointing in the direction of the upstairs lounge area. "Said you were taking too long."

"Booth," Brennan yelled, hoping he'd hear her. Fortunately, he did and his head popped over the railing. "Can we go?"

Booth returned from the lounge area and followed Brennan on her way out of the Lab.

"Sorry, it just that it took you so long to get your things and I didn't want to bother Hodgins," Booth apologized when he'd caught up to her.

"You didn't want to bother Hodgins, or you didn't want to _be_ bothered by him?"

Booth grinned. "Both. Plus I managed to drink half a cup of coffee while I was up there."

"Did you know that coffee has been associated with birth defects, miscarriages, inability to conceive and sluggish sperm?"

"I so did not need to hear that," Booth said hoarsely. "Why'd you even need to bring that up?"

"I was just trying to make conversation and facts are what I'm at ease with. They're objective," Brennan replied. "Besides, these days I'm not sure which topics are still okay to discuss with you. I constantly seem to make you uncomfortable."

"We can talk about coffee," Booth said quickly. "You drink it, too, by the way."

"Well, scientific studies have refuted most of the negative effects coffee was thought to have. And it does have many healthy qualities. For instance, caffeine increases intellectual activity when fatigued or bored."

Booth rolled his eyes. "When _fatigued_? Why can't you just say tired?"

"Those are synonyms."

"Yeah," Booth sighed and was glad they had reached his car. He opened the door and climbed inside. He started the engine and waited for Brennan to slide into the passenger seat. When she was buckled up and ready to go, Booth shifted into gear. He drove the car out of the underground parking lot and onto Jefferson Drive, steering it towards the Cohen & Co. Fairground.

Brennan opened her bag, which she had placed at her feet, and took out the questionnaire booklet Sweets had given her. "Is it okay if I start on this now?"

Booth looked to his right and eyed the questionnaire. "Sure." As Brennan started on the first few questions, Booth drove on in silence. After a while, he glanced at his partner again. "You think our answers will change much?"

"We're not supposed to talk about it," Brennan replied, not even looking up, which led Booth to release a sigh and shift his concentration back to the road ahead. A heavy silence occupied the car for the rest of the ride.

When they reached the fairground's car park, Booth parked the vehicle and they climbed out. After having shown his badge at the entrance gate, they entered the park and walked straight over to Cohen's office. He had noticed them already and came out of his office to greet the pair. After exchanging niceties, the three of them stepped into the office.

"So, how does this work?" Cohen asked after showing them to the portable air conditioner.

"It's fairly simple," Booth replied. "Dr. Brennan will dust the surface for fingerprints. If she finds any, the prints will be coated with powder, then lifted and taken for identification at the lab."

"Fingers are coated with perspiration and oil. When they touch any relatively smooth surface, the friction releases the oil from between the ridges and a print is left," Brennan explained as she took the dusting kit out of her bag. She sprinkled a small amount of black powder from the jar onto a small tray, before grabbing the Zephyr brush and rotating the shaft between her thumb and fingers, so its bristles spread apart. She dipped the tip of the brush in the powder and then gently tapped the handle to remove excess powder from the fibreglass filaments.

While Brennan started the process of dusting for prints, Booth turned his attention back to Cohen. "While she works on the air conditioner, I would like to ask you some questions about the victim," he said and Cohen nodded. "We gathered from your employees that he wasn't doing a very good job looking after the park and most of them didn't understand why you didn't fire him, or why you hired him in the first place."

"Well, I admit that he wasn't the most effective in his work, especially since he was almost completely deaf, but I just couldn't let him go."

"Why not? I'm sure you had more effective and efficient ways to spend your money than on his salary," Brennan interjected.

"Bones," Booth shushed, shaking his head at her.

"Hugh's salary wasn't exactly exorbitant. I hired him because he was a friend of my father. Hugh only had one daughter, whom he didn't get to see much. His wife died nine years ago. Cancer. If it hadn't been for this job, he wouldn't have gotten out of the house very much."

"I see. You told us this morning that Peter Warner is in charge of maintenance and repairs. Hugh Everton also did some of the maintenance work. How was their relationship?"

"Having worked here for so long, Pete was used to being the only one in charge of maintenance. I believe he really enjoys the work, so having to let Hugh handle some of the workload wasn't always easy on him, but he knew it was too much to take care of all by himself. He accepted it. Apart from that, though, I don't think they had any problems."

"His niece, Wendy Fisher, told us that he sometimes talked to you about Everton's inability to look after the park. She believes she can do a better job and her uncle often spoke with you about her ideas for improvements."

Cohen nodded. "That's true, he did. But I never perceived that as a problem. I explained to Wendy that, while I'm glad she has an interest in the fairground, I simply don't have the financial means to do any upgrades right now. I wish it were different, too. She has some great ideas."

"Did Warner mention anything to you on the day of the murder?"

"No, but I only spoke to him in the morning," Cohen answered. "You know, I'm sure there wasn't any bad blood between them. He was just looking out for his niece."

"Well, that's something we'd like to ask Warner," Booth said. "Bones, how's it going?"

"I've found several prints on the air conditioner itself and two partial prints on the wire. I've lifted them, so I'm done here," Brennan answered, already busy putting the evidence and her kit back into her shoulder bag.

"Alright," Booth replied. "Mr. Cohen, where can we find Warner?"

"He's fixing the coffee machine at the food court, something that was on Hugh's to-do list actually," Cohen answered. "Or if he's done already, you might find him at the tool shed behind the Big Wheel."

"Thank you."

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The partners walked into the food court and found Peter Warner behind the counter, cleaning up. Jerry Crawford, the young man who actually worked the counter, looked at them expectantly.

"What can I get you?"

"Actually, we're here to talk to your colleague," Booth replied, motioning his head to Warner. "Mr. Warner, can we have a word with you?"

Warner turned around to face them. "Sure." He looked at Crawford next. "It should be working now. Just switch it on and let it percolate through without any ground coffee, okay?"

"Alright, thanks," Crawford replied and went to work.

Warner walked around the counter and followed Booth and Brennan over to one of the many vacant tables. They sat down; Warner on one side, the partners across from him.

"You two the detectives working on the case?" Warner asked them. "Such a terrible loss, one can barely comprehend it."

"Actually, I'm a forensic anthropologist, working for the Jeffersonian Institute. My partner's with the FBI," Brennan corrected him. "But you're right, we're trying to solve the murder of Hugh Everton."

"Which is why we would like to ask you some questions," Booth added, looking at Warner and sizing him up.

"I understand. You've already spoken with my niece, Wendy. She told me all about you."

"We're more interested in what _you_ can tell us about that evening?" Booth asked him.

"Not much, I'm afraid. For most of the afternoon I was fixing the back of the fun house, but I remember leaving relatively early. Now I'm quite glad I did."

"You didn't see or hear anything suspicious?"

"Well, I did catch a glimpse of young Ricky and Charles arguing. I'm not normally one for eavesdropping, of course, but I think it had something to do with being popular with the children and something about a red nose. I can't remember much else. Maybe you should ask them yourself."

"We already did," Booth replied, wondering how Warner could have overheard the argument if he'd left the fairground early. He decided to return to that line of questioning at a later stage. "We understand that you've worked here a long time."

"Oh yes, a very long time. Thirty-one years, next month. I've seen many staff members come and go, but Jacob normally knows how to run things. His father thought him well. He's usually capable of making the right decisions."

"But not always?" Brennan asked him.

Warner laughed. "Is anyone?"

"How well do you get on with your colleagues?" Booth asked, quickly moving on when he noticed that Brennan was about to answer Warner's rhetorical question.

"As well as could be expected in this negative working atmosphere. I don't have problems with anyone, although I can't deny having argued with Charles on a couple of occasions, but most of the people here are guilty of that. He's so difficult sometimes."

"What about Hugh Everton?"

"He was a nice enough man, but we had our… disagreements. Some of our work, shall I say, overlapped. When Hugh didn't get around to doing the things he should have done, I often had to step in and take over, do it myself. I think he never really enjoyed his job. He was almost completely deaf, so we didn't speak much. Anyway, my niece often complained about his work to me, or lack thereof. I told her not to cause trouble, but I know she could do a better job any day. She's so talented. It's what I told Jacob, but he doesn't listen, just tells me there's no money."

"Right," Booth said as he studied the tool belt around Warner's waist. Its pockets were filled with different types of tools, except for one pocket, which was empty. "What's with the empty pocket? Lost something?"

Warner looked down at the tool belt. "Oh yeah, I'm missing one of my tools. I suspect Hugh borrowed it, but now I can't ask him where he left it…"

"What kind of tool?" Brennan asked, as she noticed that the tools in the belt pockets visibly matched the wire cutter they'd found. It seemed to come from the same set for all the tools had similar dark blue handles.

"A wire cutter, real nice one, too. Now I'll probably never get it back."

"A wire cutter," Booth repeated, as if he hadn't expected that answer. "Do you happen to work with lubricant oil?"

"I do maintenance and repairs, so yes. Why are you asking?"

Booth stood up and Brennan quickly copied his move. "Mr. Warner, I think we'll have to continue this conversation elsewhere."

"What do you mean? Where?"

"At the FBI, I think you know why."

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**_I'd love to hear what you thought of this sixth chapter!_**

**_Only three more to go..._**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:** thank you for your continued support. I truly appreciate it and I'm glad you're all still enjoying this story. Only two more chapters left!

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**Chapter Seven**

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Booth and Brennan looked at Peter Warner through the observation room's two-way mirror as he was brought into the adjacent interrogation room, followed shortly by his state appointed lawyer.

"I've given it some thought, but I can't seem to comprehend his motive for killing Everton," Brennan spoke up, her eyes still on the suspect. "Was it just because Everton was unable to do his job satisfactorily and Warner had to do it for him instead?"

"My guess is that that wasn't the only problem. There has to be more to it. Hopefully, we'll find out when we interrogate him. I'll get it out of him," Booth replied, confidently. "As soon as Cam calls about those fingerprints."

"I also asked Hodgins to analyze Warner's work gloves as they had oil stains all over them."

Booth nodded as the door opened and agent Charlie Burns walked inside. He handed the file he was carrying over to Booth, who thanked him, then just as quickly left the room again. Booth opened the folder and skimmed the information inside.

"Hmm…"

"What is it?" Brennan asked, trying to look at the file in her partner's hands.

"Seems like Warner has a record."

"Really? When we ran the fingerprint through the NCIC database, we didn't find a match. Nor was there a match in AFIS."

"Then it probably wasn't his fingerprint."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure yet. What I do know is that he was charged with assault. No conviction, though. They probably settled. It says here that he assaulted a manager at work when he was laid off. He also tried to take a swing at a visitor," Booth read from the file. "It all happened thirty one years ago, but still…"

"So, that must have taken place at the job he had before this one. Didn't he say he'd be employed at the fairground for thirty one years next month?" Brennan remarked as her cell phone began to ring. She took it out of her pocket and answered. "Dr. Brennan."

"I have the test results from the fingerprints for you," Cam told her from the other side of the line. Brennan put the phone on speaker, so Booth could listen in on the conversation. "The prints you lifted from the air conditioner didn't match the one that we found on the wire cutter, but we did find a match in AFIS. The print belongs to your suspect, Peter Warner."

"That's great, but doesn't help us much since the air conditioner wasn't the murder weapon," Booth spoke up. "If we want to nail him, we'll have to find something that actually links him to the murder, conclusively."

"Hi Booth," Cam greeted him, realizing she was talking to the both of them. "Actually, there's more. Clark Edison had a great idea when we had the same discussion over here. He suggested that we compare the partial print from the wire cutter with the victim's fingerprint and that _was_ a match."

"Okay. So, the wire cutter from Warner's tool belt had Everton's print on it. The wire of the air conditioner was cut and the prints on it belong to Warner, but his prints weren't on the glass or the costume."

"That's correct," Cam stated. "He probably wore his work gloves. Speaking of which, Dr. Hodgins compared the oil on the gloves with that on the evidence. Another match."

"Linking Warner to the murder," Booth concluded. "This I can work with. Good job, Cam."

"Thank you, Dr. Saroyan," Brennan said before disconnecting the call.

Booth looked at Brennan. "Time to interrogate."

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It had taken an hour of interrogating until Warner broke and finally confessed to the murder of his colleague Hugh Everton. Against the strong recommendation of his lawyer and after being given Miranda warnings, he decided to tell Booth and Brennan the whole story, giving them means, motive and opportunity on a silver platter.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Booth said, looking sternly at Warner. "And don't leave out any details. Be specific."

"Well, the first thing I did that day was cut the wire of the portable air conditioner in Jacob's office. I did that so I would be called in to fix it later. I just needed an excuse. Anyway, when Jacob arrived at the fairground, bringing with him the costumes, I offered to help carry them to the office. Once inside, he noticed that the air conditioner was broken and asked me to repair it that afternoon."

"So, you already cut the wire early that morning?"

"Yes. So, when Jacob had left his office for his appointment and Charles had returned his costume to the closet right before his lunch break, I entered the office myself. I cleaned the wire cutter with a rag and put on my work gloves, so I wouldn't leave behind any fingerprints. I used the tool to cut a piece of cloth from Charles' costume. I returned the wire cutter to my tool belt and stuffed the fabric into my pocket, then I left the office and went back to work."

"Again, I strongly advise you not to confess to anything else," Warner's lawyer spoke up.

"I know, but I need to do this," Warner replied and continued his confession. "So, I waited until the fairground had closed for the day and all the visitors had left, then I went over to the Hall of Mirrors to smash the mirror. Half of it fell into pieces onto the floor. I took the largest shard and wrapped it up in the bit of fabric that came from the costume. Again, I wore the gloves. Before I left the Hall, I made sure that the lights were on and found myself a place to hide until Hugh would appear. Actually, Charles came by first, but he didn't see me, I think. When Hugh came by next, he noticed that the lights were still on and he stopped in his tracks. Apparently, my wire cutter had fallen out of my tool belt when I'd left the Hall and Hugh found it at the entrance. I panicked for a moment, but then decided to take care of it later. I watched as Hugh picked up the tool and took it with him as he went into the Hall to turn off the lights. I was about to follow him inside, but at that moment, Ricky walked past the Hall. I waited for him to get out of sight, then I followed Hugh inside. He was distracted by the broken mirror and couldn't see behind him. Since he was almost completely deaf, he couldn't hear me sneaking up from behind, either. I stabbed him in the back with the glass shard. Just one stab, it was fatal. Before making my exit, I reclaimed my wire cutter, which Hugh had dropped as he fell down, and I threw it away in a garbage bin on my way over to Hugh's workplace. I entered the tool shed and hid the glass, which was still wrapped in the cloth, behind a shelf. Then, I headed over to my own workplace, where I removed the gloves and took off the tool belt. I left through the back entrance and went home. That's all."

"That's _all_? How can you say that? You murdered your colleague," Booth exclaimed angrily.

"May I state for the record that all this occurred in the heat of the moment," the lawyer mentioned, trying to keep the situation under control by fabricating mitigating circumstances.

"Oh come on," Booth replied, only semi-surprised that the lawyer would bring up something outlandish like that. "Cutting the air conditioner in the morning, cleaning the wire cutter beforehand, wearing gloves, smashing the mirror first, leaving the lights on so the victim would go inside to check; that clearly spells premeditation."

"Why Ringer's costume?" Brennan asked, not yet clear on that part of the story.

"To frame him," Booth explained to her.

Warner nodded in confirmation. "Everyone at work, including Hugh, had problems with Charles… now and again. I figured he would be a likely suspect."

"Not as likely as you, though. You have a prior record."

Warner seemed perplexed. "A record? Are you kidding me?"

"I never kid about murder, Mr. Warner."

"Those charges were a joke. Do you really think Jacob would have hired me, otherwise? He employed me immediately after I left my last job. Besides, that happened more than thirty years ago. I was twenty-three, then."

"Doesn't make it any less relevant," Booth told him. "So, why did you do it?"

"Yes, what was your motive?" Brennan asked the question that had been puzzling her ever since Warner had become a suspect.

"Don't answer that," the lawyer spoke up again, already fearing it would be in vain and it was.

Warner released a sigh, wondering how he could explain his reasons to them. "Look, it was Hugh's job to look after the fairground, but he was completely useless at it. You've seen it, the place has become a dump. Most of the time, I had to do all the work myself. As if I didn't have anything better to do. Jacob had hired him to take some of the workload off my shoulders, but instead his inadequacy only gave me more work to do. My niece would often go to him with suggestions for improvements as well and even offered to help him. But nothing ever got done. We all knew we would lose our jobs if we wouldn't attract more visitors, but Hugh obviously didn't care. It was so frustrating. You know, I have bills to pay, a family to support, I couldn't risk losing my job. I guess I just snapped."

"You just snapped?" Booth repeated.

"Yeah. Lost my head. I simply couldn't deal with it anymore. It had to end, somehow, someway."

Brennan shook her head. "So, you chose murder."

"I didn't choose it so much as it chose me."

"That's a load of crap," Booth told Warner, studying him for a moment. "You didn't realize when _it chose you_ that murder would put the fairground in a bad light, keeping the visitors away, instead of attracting them?"

"Yes, that's not at all logical," Brennan agreed.

"Momentary lapse. I only thought of two things, getting rid of the negativity Hugh brought to the park and saving my job. All of our jobs."

"Yes, very noble of you," Booth replied sarcastically. He pushed his chair back, got up and walked around the table. "Peter Warner, you're under arrest for and will be charged with the murder of Hugh Everton. So, instead of saving your job, you're looking at thirty years to life. I guess we'll see you in court."

Brennan glared at Warner. "It's over."

Defeated, Warner could only nod his head.

**BBB BBB  
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"Another case closed," Booth said, as he and Brennan left the interrogation room and walked out into the hallway after Warner had signed the confession and was taken into custody.

"Yeah, case closed. I have to say I'm impressed with the way you interrogated him. You didn't give up, even though it took an hour before he was willing to confess."

Booth looked at Brennan, a bright smile on his face. "You're impressed? Really?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Brennan told him with a nod. "Although, there's still one thing I don't understand. Why did Warner throw away the wire cutter, instead of putting it back into his tool belt? He wore gloves the whole time, so his fingerprints weren't on it."

Booth shrugged. "Everybody thinks they have a plan till things start to go wrong. He panicked and did the first thing that came to mind. He got rid of it." He looked at his watch. "I better inform Caroline about the case right now. I think she's still in the building."

Brennan nodded, looking at her own watch. "Yeah, you do that."

"You're not coming with me?"

"I can't, I have to leave now."

Booth frowned. "That means we're not going to the diner to celebrate, either? We always…"

"I have other plans," Brennan told him before he could even finish his sentence.

Booth abruptly halted as though he'd just run full face into an invisible barrier and turned to look at her. "A date?" he asked as casually as he could.

Brennan was surprised he would even think it was a date. After her debacle of dating two guys at the same time—even if she herself wouldn't have used the term dating to describe what had been going on; she'd had social intercourse with one and sexual intercourse with the other—she wasn't planning on dating again any time soon. Their rejection had hurt and, for the moment, her surrogate relationship with Booth was the safer, more comfortable choice.

"An appointment with my publisher," she informed him before her thoughts went back to the therapy session with Sweets where they had discussed said debacle.

During that session, Booth had told her that there was someone for everyone, someone she was meant to spend the rest of her life with and he'd somehow convinced her to wait for that one special person, especially since she'd gotten the feeling he'd been talking about himself. On top of that, Cate Pritchard's advice was still running through her head, as well. The Scotland Yard inspector had been right, she now comprehended. She did not want to forego Everest. Unfortunately, there was a small avalanche of tension, which prohibited her from climbing that proverbial mountain. She had her hiking gear ready, however, and would patiently wait until the time was right. Until the line that separated them would be erased and she could reach the top of Mount Everest, planting her flag with the intention to stay.

"Oh, okay," Booth replied, clearly relieved by her answer. "Don't forget to fill out the questionnaire, though."

"I'm already halfway done. How about you?" she asked somewhat smugly.

"Yeah, haven't started yet…" Booth confessed and Brennan sent him a glare. "I will do my homework, I promise. Don't want to disappoint Sweets." He rolled his eyes at the mention of the therapist's name.

"Just Sweets?"

"And you," Booth added quickly. "You know I value our partnership, but I don't always value the kid's opinion."

"You're just afraid he's going to find out something you don't want anyone to know."

Booth looked at her, pointedly. "Yes."

Brennan looked back at him, inviting more information. Booth didn't elaborate, however. He wasn't going to let her know he was afraid his answers would show his true feelings for her. That was why he hadn't started on it in the first place. He was still undecided whether he would fill out the questionnaire honestly and what exactly Sweets would be able to deduce from his answers if he did.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asked instead. "Case reports?"

"Sure. You know where to find me," Brennan replied, then her brows puckered in thought. "That is, if I'm at the Jeffersonian. Of course there is always a small chance that I might be asked to assist in the identification of deceased individuals or oversee a dig, then you'll have to call me to find out my whereabouts."

Booth smiled. "I'm FBI, Bones, I'll always know where to find you."

Brennan nodded, then headed for the elevator. Booth blew out a breath of air and went to find the acerbic Assistant United States Attorney**.**

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_Feedback makes my day! I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter, especially anything regarding the case._


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **first of all I'd like to apologize for the long wait. I planned to update quicker, but things have been crazy hectic at work and, on top of that, I've probably revised this chapter five times, which is why it took me so long to post it. Secondly, thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed the last chapter. Good to know you're all still liking it. One more chapter to go!

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**Chapter Eight**

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After having dropped off her completed questionnaire at Sweet's mailbox at the FBI early in the morning, Brennan had driven over to the Jeffersonian Institute, intent on getting some work done now she had the chance. She entered her office with a bone box from the Limbo storage room and sat down to read the accompanying file. As per usual, the file was thin for not much information was known about the remains. It was after all a limbo case.

After having looked at two other bone boxes from Limbo, Brennan noticed Angela entering the Lab and heading over to her office with a cup off coffee in her hands. Brennan put the file she was reading down, rose from her seat and walked over to her friend's workplace. She found Angela standing behind her desk, taking a sip of coffee as she waited for her computer to boot up.

"Morning, Angela."

"Hey," Angela greeted her cheerily. "I didn't see you anymore after we talked yesterday. So, tell me, how did it go?"

"Very well. Warner confessed to the murder, so we've closed the case."

"Oh, that's great. I just figured you'd come back to the Lab after you were done."

"I had an early dinner, otherwise I would have come back to work, yes."

"With Booth?" Angela asked hopefully as they sat down on her couch.

Brennan pushed a pillow to the side. "No, my publicist."

"Oh. To discuss work, right? It wasn't a date, just a business dinner?"

"Yes, we discussed my marketability."

Angela frowned. "Your marketability? It's… your… Why?"

"Apparently, I'm marketed as a sexy scientist and I'm not happy with that. I want to be taken seriously as a novelist."

Angela began to understand. "Is that why you deleted your work from your computer and almost threw away your manuscripts?"

Brennan simply nodded.

Angela shook her head, thinking back to that day. She couldn't believe her friend had almost gotten rid of her bestsellers. "I'm glad Booth was there to rescue them, so I could scan them and get them back on your hard drive. It was a lot of work, but so worth it. Man, if you'd really gotten rid of them… phew… that would not have been good."

"In retrospect, it was irrational of me to do that," Brennan acknowledged. "I see that now."

"So, how will you be marketed from now on? Sexy scientist who solves crimes on the side with her hot FBI agent?" Angela grinned.

"Ange, no. Simply as a forensic anthropologist operating out of the Jeffersonian Institute and working for the FBI on a contractual basis. Just the facts."

Angela smiled to herself, having expected the serious answer. Before she could ask another question, however, Booth walked into her office.

"Ah, there you are," Booth remarked with a smile, looking at his partner.

Angela studied the expression on his face, then looked over at Brennan, whose face had lit up as soon as she'd noticed Booth's presence. Angela couldn't help but smile herself. Despite the tension, it was rather transparent that they were still happy to see each other.

Booth walked further into the room. "What were you two gossiping about now?"

"I don't gossip," Brennan told him.

"But _she_ does," Booth replied, referring to Angela.

Angela raised her eyebrows at him. "Excuse me?"

"You're on the couch, no case files in sight, you're gossiping about something or the other."

"You're good."

"I know," Booth said. "Special Agent, remember?"

"Right. So, Special Agent Seeley Booth, what brings you to my office?"

"Bones," he replied, looking at Brennan again. "You got time to work on the case reports now?"

"I can make time at the very least."

"Great."

Brennan stood up and headed for the door, exiting the office. Booth was about to follow her outside, but Angela managed to grab his arm and quickly pulled him back.

"Booth, if you two would just be honest with each other, everything will work out. I promise," she told him with a serious expression on her face. Booth frowned, pretending he didn't know what she was talking about. Angela was having none of it, however, and sent him on his way. "Go help your _partner_."

Wondering just how much Angela knew about their situation—perhaps they'd been gossiping about him—Booth headed over to Brennan's office. She was sitting on her couch already, waiting for him to join her.

He sat down next to her. "So, did you drop off the questionnaire at Sweets' office?"

"Of course. I left it in his mailbox. You?"

"Uh-huh. Including the 300 word essay."

"You took it seriously?"

"Yep, it cost me almost two hours to complete the whole thing. So, when did you drop it off? I figured you would've stopped by my office on your way out, or in."

"I did, but you weren't there," Brennan told him, then elaborated off his look. "At six thirty."

"Six thirty!"

"I wanted to be here around seven. I have a lot of work to do."

Booth nodded, aware of her dedication. "Limbo?"

"I've already looked at three World War II cases this morning."

"That's wonderful, Bones."

"You aren't just saying that, are you?"

"No, I mean it. I know you're very dedicated and I lo-like that about you," Booth said, almost slipping up.

If Brennan noticed his faux-pas, she didn't acknowledge it. "So, since I got a lot of work done this morning, I now have time to do the case report."

"Perfect. Let's get started, then."

**BBB BBB  
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Having officially closed the case and after notifying the victim's daughter about it, the partners drove over to the Cohen & Co. Fairground in the late afternoon. They had called the owner beforehand and he was waiting for them at the entrance gate. The three of them chatted about the case plus its outcome and then about the state of the fairground for a moment.

Since Booth and Brennan had an appointment with Sweets at five o'clock, it was time to part ways and they informed Cohen so.

"I want to thank you again," Cohen told them, shaking their hands profusely. "I'm glad you managed to solve the case, although I still can't believe it was Pete. I just can't… He's been with us for so long."

"People can do strange things and behave uncharacteristically when they feel threatened about their future," Booth explained. "He figured he would end up losing his job because of Hugh Everton."

Cohen nodded. "There was a chance we would all lose our jobs, but certainly not because of Hugh." He looked over at Brennan. "And because of your generous check, I will be able to keep the fairground open and actually do some improvements for the first time in eight years."

Booth looked over at Brennan as well, not aware she had financially helped out yet another person in need. She felt his stare on her, but didn't look back at him. Instead, she smiled at Cohen. "Glad I could help out."

"You don't know how much that means to me. I can't thank you enough, Dr. Brennan. As a token of my appreciation I would like to give both of you a set of tickets to the fairground. They will allow you free entrance for the rest of the season. I'd be honored to have you here."

Cohen reached into his pocket to retrieve the tickets and handed them to Booth and Brennan. They thanked him politely and then said their goodbyes. They headed back to Booth's car and climbed inside, after which he started the engine and they drove off in the direction of the FBI building. Brennan looked over at Booth and found that he seemed to be deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, curiously, as she studied his profile. "You _are_ concentrating on the road, right? I can drive if something's distracting you."

"Nothing's distracting me."

"Booth?"

"Hmm. What?"

"We're supposed to share things. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that we…"

"Okay, okay," he interjected. "It's just that I'm amazed you wrote Cohen a check. That's all."

Brennan frowned. "I shouldn't have?"

"No, no. It's great."

"Then what?"

Booth sighed, not sure if he should say anything. "I just don't understand why people assume you're cold and heartless. If they knew you, they'd know they're so wrong. You are one of the most caring persons I've ever met. I guess most people just don't take the time to find out."

Brennan looked at him for a moment, surprised and deeply moved by his admission. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_," Booth told her. "And it's not just Cohen. You helped a lot more people. The employees, the families who come to visit, basically everyone involved with the fairground."

"You can have my set of tickets, though," Brennan spoke up after a moment of silence, steering their conversation into another direction for she wasn't sure how to react to his kind words. "I have no reason to go to the fairground myself. You could take Parker."

"Or maybe the three of us could go together sometime?" Booth suggested, almost afraid she'd turn down his invitation.

"I think I'd like that."

Both were surprised she didn't need more time to cogitate on her response.

**BBB BBB  
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Having made it back to the J. Edgar Hoover building, Booth held open the door to Sweets' office and allowed Brennan entrance first. The therapist watched the pair with interest and smiled at them as they sat down across from him.

"You had time to look at our homework?" Booth immediately asked him, intent on leaving if he hadn't.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Sweets replied, patting the four questionnaires lying on the armrest of his seat—the two old booklets on the bottom and the two recently completed ones on top of them. "Very telling."

"Right."

"Are you ready to discuss them?"

"I don't suppose we have another choice."

"Alright. Well, to an outside therapist, or any casual observer for that matter, the outcome of the comparison would be very puzzling, but having gotten to know the two of you a little bit, I was able to determine what… happened."

"Something happened?" Brennan asked him, a scowl on her forehead.

"There are two conclusions, really," Sweets continued. "On the one hand, the comparison clearly showed that you've become so much closer over the past year. Obviously, a lot has happened and it evidently tightened your emotional bond. It became even deeper than it already was, which is not surprising."

"And on the other hand?" Booth and Brennan both inquired.

"Well, at the same time there seems to be some tension and awkwardness. While your relationship has become deeper, it has also become slightly strained. There were some questions, mostly on the topics of relationships, religion and future goals, which you answered completely different compared to last year, but also compared to each other," Sweets told them. "I think it all leads back to what happened between you after the Richardson case. Are you ready now to tell me what exactly that was?"

"He kissed me," Brennan answered almost immediately.

Booth's eyes widened in surprise. "Bones," he hissed.

Sweets' eyes widened as well, but he tried to keep a straight face otherwise. "I see. That explains a lot."

"But we've moved on, okay," Booth tried to assure him, intent on putting an end to the conversation.

Even though the FBI Agent repeatedly looked upon him as a twelve-year-old kid, he wasn't born yesterday. "Obviously you didn't and I believe your questionnaires clearly indicate the same thing. Surely you realize that you can't move on if you don't deal with what happened first. What makes me wonder, however… No, let me phrase that differently. I know that you've kissed before, at least once around Christmas last year. You mentioned something about mistletoe when we were at the…"

"Yeah, so?" Booth asked, before Sweets could even finish his sentence.

"So, what changed? What was different this time?"

Booth's jaw was set hard. "Why would anything be different?"

"Back then you _did_ manage to move on, your relationship didn't become strained over it. It was almost like the kiss never happened."

"I think it was because we both knew it didn't mean anything back then. Caroline Julian basically blackmailed us," Brennan responded, deciding it was time to interject. "This time around, though, I think I might have misjudged Booth's intentions."

"And those were?" Sweets asked Booth, who looked like he'd had enough.

"I can only tell you about my current intention, which is to leave this room right this second," Booth said angrily, as he got up and walked up to the door. "I feel no need to discuss this here, with you."

"Booth," Brennan pleaded as he left the office, slamming the door closed so hard that the wall vibrated. Distressed, she looked back at Sweets.

"Wow," he remarked. "Touchy."

"Don't say that."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. It's just that I didn't expect that reaction."

"You should've. _I _should have expected it. We both know he's not comfortable talking about these things. He's a much more private person."

Sweets nodded. "You're absolutely right, but therapy mostly concerns topics and feelings that people are uncomfortable with. Therapy helps them deal with that."

"Fine. So, what do I do now?"

"I think it's best if you two talk about this somewhere private," Sweets told her with a sigh, regretting the mess he'd made. "And Dr. Brennan, please take it from someone who is trained to recognize emotions and even though there might be times I'm wrong, I'm sure about one thing and that is that the two of you are meant to be together. Not just as partners, I mean romantically. Do you remember the session during which agent Booth told you there was one special person for everyone, someone you're meant to spend the rest of your life with and that you just have to be open enough to see it?"

"Yes."

"It was obvious that he was talking about the two of you then and he's right."

Brennan nodded, a slight blush on her cheeks. "I was beginning to see that."

"Awesome. So, go talk to him, okay?"

"I wouldn't know what to say, Dr. Sweets. This is the first time I…" Brennan started, then sighed. She bit her lip before speaking up again. "I'm afraid that the moment I commit he'll abandon me, which seems to be a recurring pattern in my life. Everybody leaves."

"Please don't compare him to your parents or your brother, Dr. Brennan. I'm aware that you've been disappointed many times, by them and by others, but this is a totally different situation," Sweets told her. "And yes, love can be a scary emotion, but it's also the most wonderful thing in the world to have, to share. That's why you should take a risk. I want you to rely solely on your heart this time, not on your brain."

"Booth always tells me the same thing. He's the heart person, though."

Sweets smiled encouragingly. "Then you know I'm right. Trust him."

"I think I will."

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_**Please leave a review; I really appreciate them!**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **like last time, I planned to post this chapter much sooner, but here it is... finally! Unfortunately, I didn't get around to thanking everyone who has left a review for chapter 8 personally. Therefore, I would like to take the opportunity and do it here. Thanks to: CSI-4077, xBeMinex, garnergeek, Hazmatt, miss jasadin, mustanggirlz07, HollywoodDramaQueen, BonesnBooth, Ella Cony, dknckelly, Darkangel0345 and daileyt. Your comments made my day and were much appreciated! I hope you'll be satisfied with the ending.

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**Chapter Nine**

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With Sweets' advice in her head, Brennan left the therapist's workplace and went to look for her partner in his own office, but found it dark and empty when she got there. She thought it irrational, but just to be certain, she opened the door and turned on the lights. Still no Booth. She flipped the light switch back to the off position and closed the door with a sigh. Disappointed and somewhat frustrated with herself, she made her way out of the FBI building. She pondered if he might have gone home already. It seemed the most logical place for her to check. Thus, when she got into her car, she wasted no time turning on the engine and sped off to his house, in hopes of finding him there.

When she arrived at his building, she peered out of the car window and saw that the lights were off and his car was nowhere in sight. Again, she wanted to make sure that he was in fact absent and not hiding from her in the dark. She got out of the car, made her way up to his front door and rang the doorbell. Like she'd expected, there was no answer. Not knowing where else to look for him, she decided to drive over to the apartment Angela had moved into after her split with Hodgins. If she couldn't talk to Booth, she'd have to talk to her best friend.

Once she was on the road again, driving across the city, she realized she had no idea what she actually would have said to Booth had she found him. Never before had she done something for which she was downright unprepared. For sure, she knew the gist of it. She had planned on telling him how she felt, as Sweets had encouraged her to do. She would have told him something along the lines of no longer being able to deny that she had fallen for him. That she wanted to give an exclusive relationship with him a try. That she was curious and inexperienced in regards of love, yet ready to take the risk. However, these were just the facts and those she could get across quite easily, even if they were new to her. Emotions and, more specifically, expressing them, were not her strong suit. Nonetheless, she wanted Booth to understand that she was serious about venturing into a romantic relationship with him and that it wouldn't be some sort of anthropological study to her. She needed him to know that she wanted much more from him than to have her biological urges satisfied. That would merely be a bonus. She wanted to experience love.

Perhaps most importantly, she wondered how he would react to her confession. Would Angela and Sweets have been right? Did he truly love her, or was it just something they had wanted to see? Had they just been projecting? And what about that damned line? The longer she thought about it all, the more the number of questions that came up in her mind increased, as well as the need to talk to Angela. She hoped the artist would be home.

Before Brennan knew it, she had arrived in Angela's neighborhood. She parked her car across from the entrance to the modern looking apartment building. She got out of the vehicle and looked up, seeing a dim light peek through Angela's curtains. Hopeful, she crossed the street and walked up to the entrance hall. She was about to ring the intercom bell, when another person left the building and held the door open for her. Brennan thanked the man politely and took the stairs up to the third floor. Standing in front of Angela's door, she knocked and waited for an answer. It didn't take Angela long to open the door, for she had just gotten home herself and was still in her hallway, putting away her bag and keys.

"Bren, sweetie, what a surprise. Why don't you come inside?" Angela greeted her, stepping aside to let her in, but frowned when she got a better look at Brennan's face. "You look troubled, what happened?"

"Booth walked out of our therapy session," Brennan answered while she strode into the kitchen. She pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down.

"Why did he do that?" Angela asked as she joined Brennan at the table. "Can I get you something to drink, by the way? Tea maybe?"

"No thanks," Brennan said, shaking her head. "He's a very private person and we made the mistake of talking about something… well, private. He couldn't handle it."

"You mean the kiss?" Angela clarified and Brennan nodded in confirmation. "Well, it's good that you brought it up and at least tried to talk about it again."

"But not in front of Sweets. I should've known that."

"So, he just walked out?"

"Yes," Brennan replied. "And I went to look for him, but I couldn't find him in his office and he hadn't gone home either."

"You don't know where else he could be?"

"There are so many places, I wouldn't know where to check first… Do you really think Booth's in love with me?"

Angela looked at her best friend in disbelieve. "You still have doubts about that? Seriously?"

"Why else would he have drawn the line?"

"You've mentioned this line before. How did that ever come up in the first place?"

"Well, to make a long story short," Brennan started and thought back to that day where she and Booth had talked on a park bench, watching his son on the merry-go-round. "When Howard Epps went after us and Cam ended up in the hospital, Booth drew the line, saying that people who work together can't get involved. I mean, romantically."

"I see, but he was together with Cam back then. Are you sure he wasn't just referring to their situation? An excuse to end it with her, maybe?"

"I don't think so. He told me right after they'd broken up. That's when he drew the line and the way I understood it, he meant it in general. And since we are working together, we can't be in a sexual relationship, either."

"So, that once mentioned line is the only thing keeping you apart right now?"

"Essentially."

"Erase it," Angela told her simply.

Brennan looked at her as if she'd just mentioned it was no longer scientifically impossible to turn water into wine. Even though said topic was something she enjoyed arguing about with Booth, the suggestion would be as preposterous as Angela's comment had just sounded to her. "He drew it, so it's not up to me to erase it."

"But if he's too afraid to get rid of it, or if he keeps it up merely to protect you, or himself for that matter, you should take some action yourself. Love comes with a risk, but you should take it. It's worth it. Trust me, it really is."

"It's just… it's not easy for me, because I've never been in a personal relationship like that before. While my knowledge is vast, I know very little about love."

"I know," Angela replied compassionately and thought for a moment about how she could clarify things for her friend. "Let me give you an example of what love is and tell me afterwards if you can relate in any way. Okay?"

"I should be able do that."

"Alright. Well, love entails a lot of things, which is what makes it so wonderful in the first place. Love is friendship, companionship, sharing. It's also loyalty, trust, respect, acceptance, honesty, passion, compassion… Does any of that sound familiar?"

Brennan nodded. "Booth and I have all those things, I think. At least, up to a certain degree."

"I think you do, too," Angela told her. "So, let me share a secret with you. Having all that is what us humans call true love. It's rare and should be treasured."

"I _am_ a human being."

Angela chuckled. "I know, and a very amazing one on top of that, which is why it applies. So, are you ready to admit that what you feel for Booth is in fact love?"

"Yes, I can't deny that any longer. I've realized that I want a real connection, a monogamous romantic relationship. With him. With Booth," she clarified.

"Wow. I can't believe you're finally able to admit it. At last you caught up to your own reality. I'm so proud of you, Temperance. I really am."

Brennan smiled. "Well, I suppose you made a compelling case."

"I always do," Angela grinned. "Seriously though, please tell Booth. He feels the same way, trust me. Get a good night's sleep and then, first thing tomorrow morning, go back to his house. It's a Saturday, so he should be home."

Brennan bit her lip. "He might have Parker."

"He might, he might not. Either way, you have to give this a try, sweetie. Go pay him a visit and talk about your feelings." She stood up, walked up to a cabinet and rummaged through one of its drawers, which was loaded with her drawing utensils. She found what she was looking for and walked back to Brennan. "Give him this."

Brennan eyed the object Angela had placed in the palm of her hand. "An eraser?"

"Yes, it's symbolic."

"Ah, to erase the line," Brennan said, catching on.

**BBB BBB  
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The next morning, a rather nervous Brennan rang Booth's doorbell. She hoped he was awake—she herself had been up for several hours already—and had time to talk. No answer. A small part of her was incontestably relieved. However, the braver part of her led her to ring the bell again. As the chime echoed through the hallway, she fingered the eraser that Angela had given her the night before, making sure it was still inside her pocket. She withdrew her hand and patted the pocket, contemplating the silliness of it. The eraser acted as a sort of rabbit's tail for good luck, which was something she had never believed in, but she now saw its psychological value. She took a deep breath and, only a moment later, Booth opened the door. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved shirt, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his wrists. His wet hair revealed he'd just come out of the shower. Brennan couldn't help but notice how good he looked.

"Hey Bones, wanna come in?" Booth asked her, surprised to find her on his doorstep. She nodded and walked inside. "Sorry it took me so long to open the door. I was in the middle of getting dressed."

"I figured as much."

"I didn't know you would stop by," Booth continued, following her into the living room, where they sat down on the couch, keeping a considerate distance between them.

"I was here yesterday, too. I tried to find you after you left therapy. You weren't in your office, so I decided to look here, but you weren't home."

"Yeah, I was at the firing range," Booth told her, almost sounding embarrassed. He had emptied two barrels of his gun on the target's heart before he'd felt his anger start to disappear.

Brennan nodded. "I didn't look there."

"Are you angry with me?"

His question surprised her. "Why?"

"You know, for leaving therapy like that."

"Not at all. I understood your reasons for doing so."

"You did?"

"Yes, but Sweets is right. We should talk."

He nodded slowly. "I know."

Brennan released a sigh, wondering if now would be the right time. Judging these kind of situations did not come easy to her. "You have Parker today, right?"

"Uh-huh. I was thinking about taking him to the fairground, actually. I know he'd like you to come with us," Booth replied, visibly perking up. "So, care to join us today?"

"Well, yesterday in the car, I already told you that I would, but I spoke prematurely because I'm not sure if I should do that now. I really think it's important that we talk first and since you probably have to pick up your son now…"

"Not for another hour," Booth interjected quickly. "So, we can talk now." He shifted nervously in his seat. "Would you like to go first?"

She hesitated. "I think it's easier for you."

"Not necessarily."

"Alright, in that case I'll start," she said and took a deep breath before she did so. She figured she had one chance and wanted to get it right, which was characteristic of her to begin with. Thus, she chose her words as carefully as she could. "When you kissed me the other day, I think I misjudged your intentions, because I was confused. In fact, I'm still confused."

"You thought it was a friendly kiss, that I merely tried to console you."

"You set the line, Booth. What was I supposed to think?"

He released a sigh, shaking his head. "That line was a farce. I wish I'd never said anything."

"So, you _do_ think it's alright for people who work together to get involved romantically? You don't need this, then?" She dug up the eraser and handed it to Booth.

He laughed a little when he saw what she'd given him. "No, I don't need it. Consider the line erased. The thing is, Bones, it doesn't matter really. Whether we're in a romantic relationship or not, my feelings for you won't change. I'm going to be affected either way."

Brennan looked at him for a moment, trying to comprehend what he meant. "You speak about your feelings, but I still don't know what those are exactly, Booth. To this day, you've never told me. You've avoided my questions. Are you in love with me? Because I think that's what I feel for you."

His heart skipped a beat and for the first time he felt he could be honest about it and move forward. Almost symbolically, he inched a tad closer to her. He looked into her cerulean eyes and actually gained courage from them. "Yes, I love you, Bones. I have for quite some time."

"I wish you'd said something earlier."

"Frankly, it's not that easy. I didn't think you were ready yet to… reciprocate. I simply couldn't risk it."

"I've been told by many people these last few days that love is worth taking a risk for."

Booth smiled. "And they're right. It is. That's why I kissed you that night. For once in my life, I took a chance and risked it all."

"And I reacted in the most horrible way. I dismissed it, dismissed you, your feelings."

"You were confused."

"Not anymore."

Booth looked her in the eyes and saw that she was serious. She was no longer confused and for some reason she looked more beautiful to him than she ever had before, which was close to impossible. He brought his right hand up and placed it on her cheek, softly caressing the blushing skin with his thumb as she held her breath, waiting for what was to come. Ever so slowly, he leaned in until their lips met in a soft kiss. The scientist in Brennan couldn't help but compare it to their Christmas kiss. The simple conclusion was that this kiss was so much better, because it was heartfelt. The feeling started in her own heart, then she could feel it on her cheeks, in her fingers and at the tip of her toes. It consumed her entire being and a shiver ran down her spine. It was a complete new sensation. Still deep in thought and before she was ready, Booth pulled back. They locked eyes again for a moment, before leaning back in for another kiss. This time, they locked lips with more passion. Brennan felt herself tremble as their kiss deepened, tongues moving against each other with long hidden yearning and desire. When they finally pulled apart and held hands instead, they smiled at each other in understanding, both utterly content with the colossal step they had taken together.

The silence, though comfortable, escorted Brennan back to her initial thoughts and insecurities. "Booth, you are aware that I know very little about the non-physical aspects of love…"

"That's okay. I can teach you if you're willing to be taught."

Her smile brightened. She was all for education. "Always. I want to learn everything. You know me."

"I believe I do."

Brennan nodded. Then, all of a sudden, the smile left her face and she stared down at their entwined fingers, not able to look him in the eyes anymore for she was afraid of his answer. "Are you going to leave me?"

"Never," Booth promised her, making her look up at him again so she could see that he meant it. He felt like he looked at the fifteen year old version of her, he'd never seen her so vulnerable before.

"Everyone I've ever loved has left me."

"I won't."

Brennan looked back into his warm, reassuring brown eyes and for the first time since her parents' abandonment she allowed herself to rely solely and entirely on her heart. The smile returned and lit up her delicate features as she spoke the words that, in the past, would have been even harder for her to voice than her declaration of love. "I trust you."

And she did, wholeheartedly. She was no longer scared. She was in love and eager to climb the proverbial mountain that was Seeley Booth. He indeed was her rock, her safe haven, and she, Temperance Brennan, therefore felt ready for whatever the future would bring them.

* * *

**_The End_**

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**_Feedback is greatly appreciated. I would love to find out what you thought of this last chapter!_**


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